Sometimes I feel as though
writing poetry
is like throwing scraps at the dogs.
Have I satisfied my mind's hunger to write?
Not until
I can say
that I've written
with pride.
For the only way to be full
is to be brave enough
to swallow
my own
words.

I'm the warm cup of coffee
he drinks every morning,
but today he's forgotten me

I've been waiting for his
mouth to swallow me all day,
and I'm losing my warmth with
each time he forgets to drink me

After months,
his tongue longed for my sweet taste,
but now I'm cold, bitter, and sour

Places left forgotten
And memories still swaying
There's no place left to say
How it could've been this way.

Places left intact
To say how I should react
It dismembers itself
And displaces the rest

An empty swallow
A withering remembrance
A place left to show
Where nothing else will grow

If I call upon myself
What do I let summon?
Nothing but the pain it brings
Nothing but the place that sings

The Prince, my Prince

Everyday you sought out an Atlas
And everyday he carried the eternal’s weight
If you call listening, carrying

1 of 12, 12 labours
Head to the ground, body stripped in apology
So that others may look to the stars

A debt owed, now a debt paid
A happy debt  

The Greek remembers with stories
The Roman remembers with dates
People dismiss him with smile and thanks
I don’t, I remember

Your heart, in stone, cracked
A kiss lasting a lifetime, a kiss for two

The Prince, my Prince

The Swallow, my Swallow

‘Will you not stay with me for one night, and be my messenger?’
‘Will you not stay with me one night longer?’
‘Will you not stay with me one night longer?’

Yes
‘Do as I command you’


And so everyday he took the place of Prometheus
Giving fire to humans
As giving light to those lost in this dark, dark world

Eurydice, Eurydice, my dear Eurydice, you went too soon
I sing this song, in hopes that the Gods look favorably on me  
Wish granted, time short, rain is all I see  

Time for a kiss, not kisses
Sweet, short, sorrowful

The Swallow, my Swallow

I clean toilets
with no gloves on
my two tone hands.

I wondered why
I was born.
She told me this:

"So I wouldn't be alone."

I clean floors and
change a commode.
**** fills my nose.

I offer time
in an exchange
for my wage.

"I'm a ***** and
      I was born for this
         companionship."

I wondered why
I was born.
She told me this:

"I really wanted a kid."

Free agent, here.
I'm a bang for your buck.
Want a bargain?
Then you're in luck.

I can change a bed.
(Please take me in.)
I can tend a heart.
(It's what I was taught.)

I swallow.
(Oh, oh.)
I swallow.
(Oh, oh.)

Orange-Juice
tastes nice:
sweet,
hydrating,
with tiny nourishing pips
which squish on my tongue
as I swallow.

“Write a short poem.”
there’s too much to say,
or been said
yet to be
said


So swallow the penny
no one keeps them nowadays

I feel like life is just a pill I can't seem to swallow,
Swimming in my mouth, bitter, disgusting, I wallow

Stop looking at me
as if I’m some
- thing
to swallow up
or spit out.
A berry, black, swollen
ready to be chosen for your
consumption. I sour on your
tongue, assaulting your
taste buds because you
thought the only
- thing
that mattered was the purplish black,
the juice that produced for your
pleasure, my ripe, plump bumps,
my green hands
outstretched ready and there, for you?
Still you pluck and **** and stare
and **** me up with your
barren compliments stripping
my sweet substance
one by one
by one, you
extract it out
of me