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topacio Dec 2022
She was a person with a lot of punctuation,
wherever she went punctuation followed!

Periods never lasted long
since they carried resolution,

and she was a woman always
embarking on what was next,

to uncover what was beyond
the point of no return --

the flat earth made round,
as to run in perpetual loop,

commas and exclamations
were common guests

and stayed long after supper,
well into dessert and into
         run on mornings,

they commonly crashed on her couch
until they got soaked into her furniture,

and now whenever she tries to rest
her head in the ending of her day,

she is poked with the scythe of her commas,
reminding her there is still work to be done,

her YALP! summoning her exclamations
from under her favorite pillow --

falling baseball bats barreling out,
their effervescent presence bubbling

to the surface where they burst and
reveal how itchy they make her feel.
topacio Sep 2023
It is the army of children
who wake me from sleep,
as they march towards
the neighborhood park,
with their declarations
of freedom.

I thought I was them
as I awoke from my rest,
but my pasture of purpose
has changed from
slide to desk.

I thought I was them
as I longed for green,
I thought I was them
and I walked towards the scene.

And I was quick to remember
nature said it best,
          how easy she gathers
          when we realize we are her guest.
topacio Sep 2020
i want to make a toast
to the pause in between the wind.

a sweet dance
i partake in of
man and nature,
willingly i observe you
& then
silently retreat into myself.

i will always dance
this delicate waltz
which allows me to
examine the ways
in which i am the
same and different to you
topacio Aug 2022
I think of all the times I have wanted to use you,
but chose your stronger brothers:
damp, muggy, soggy, dank

Or heard you pass through the slips of human lips,
and shuddered at your mere presence.
Damnation was never your goal in life I am sure,
you had greater ambition, despite your condition.

You never deserved the dank basement
of vocabulary, or the back of the bus.

I hope that when the sun rises,
some lunatic with a pen takes you up from the ditches
and writes a soliloquy about his lover's moist lips,
how they so gently move within his grip.

I hope that when the travelers sludge through mud,
they hear moist moist moist echo from their shoes
and are reminded of your being
as you stay lingering in their traveling heads,

across the mountains of Timbuktu and into Machu Pichu,
most likely streaming on a thread atop a skyscraper
dangling in the wind for no one to see.
topacio Oct 2022
I awoke this morning and
wondered if I was even sentient.
The curtains failed to close
over my lids once more,
forcing my mind's actors to
repeat their tired monologues.

They wax on about regrets,
and the lovers who failed
to pass the test of time,  
friends too for that matter,
recipes that will be born
in the upcoming week,
and the subtle noises
emanating from the
dark corners of my room.

Try as I might to pull
the rope of my velvet curtain,
there remains my lead actor
once more trying to
prove her point that
the road to success is
in the wee hours
of the morning,
right here and now.
The entrance on my desk,
where the muses like to offer
me cement for my tired bricks,

even though I have been
harping on about how they
have been doing their
timeless work of threading
inspiration into my flesh
in the afternoons as of late,  
amidst the heatwave when
the citizens of the world
recoil inside their homes
to escape the sweat and
throngs of people who
leave me weary during
the early hours of
the morning.
topacio Oct 2022
The great thing about being married
to my alone is how she is everywhere,

she is in the bathroom stall and
the never dialed midnight calls,

she sits under layers of conversation
when relation has left the dialogue,

nestled in my car rides where I
can truly soak into her aroma,

and sing her songs that sound
better only when she's around.

She's the same as she ever was,
and she hasn't aged a day,

open and expansive,
molecular and cool.

She knows herself so well,
and takes up space as if

she created it herself.
I envy her sometimes

when I am all places at once and
empty vessels are nowhere to be found.

But she finds herself back to me
so often I believe she never really left.

I dare to say we might be soulmates,
is what hits me as I take my walk to the kitchen

and leave you comfortable in my bed,
in your unhappy marriage to your alone.
topacio Jan 2016
i met a young girl
the other day,
and she wanted to
know if i cared to
read her book.

i was delighted at her
especially from a girl
so young as herself,

i agreed to take
her novel, slipping
it into my sturdy hand
bending the whole page backwards,
allowing it
to kiss the cover,
holding it up to the sun as
if i were to recite it
to the curious sky.

the little girl
could do nothing,
but stare and
ask of me
that i not bend
the pages
of sylvia plath,

and i knew then
and there,
that she was doomed
to a life of math.
topacio Jul 2022
I wish flowers
would go extinct
if only for a day,
from both the earth
and my memory,
just so I can pluck these
thorny comparisons
from out my poems.

And while we're there,
sunrises can also take the boot
with their predictable
eastern risings and
western settings,
intrusive summer heat,
and their connection to
the feminine glow.

Why not try
rising in the north
and setting in the south,
dare to relate yourself
to the screech of a car?

Don't get me started
on the diverging
roads and your
forked choices
or a bustling stage
you call your

I want to lean
on over to Andromeda,
and see what kind of
terrain they have,  
weave my words
based on their cold suns,
that are actually called
moons or flubberdygoo,
that never set and
mimic the sounds
of migrating birds.

Or maybe peek
on over to Neptune
with her five rings and
get a better idea
of the color blue
and how wind can
actually feel like

Because my dear
however lovely
your lips truly are,
I can no longer go
forward relating them
to the red rose nor
compare our
premature parting
to the setting sun.
topacio Oct 2015
when i met you
i didn't know id be
meeting all six of you.
your personas
spilled from your pocket
like rapid fire kisses.
little by little
trickling out
with casual coolness.
like perfectly stacked dominoes
shot out into the open
by geronimo and his rifle.
and the only thing you expected
was to expect me to not inspect them.
to not hold them up to the light
and investigate the content.

anyway my hands were
too shaky  
and small
to carry them all.
anyway you smiled.
with the same
smile you forgot to
take off from work.

the angry
the riddle
the obstinate
the sweetheart
the confused
the drunk
the person you think you are
the person you are desperately trying to become.

for what its worth,
i hope to meet him
one day too.
topacio Jul 2022
Maybe the only
vocabulary we have
to describe death
is silence and a
bow of our head,
braiding our fingers
over our books after
each word has been read,
gazing ahead and
knowing that we
are just an alphabet
of letters never meant
to spell out any words.
topacio Sep 2020
i can smell a poet a mile away
who only wishes
to read their poetry to you,

who prods and pulls
away at your brain for insight -
what about this word?
let me tell you of the girl
who broke my heart enough times
for me to procure this poem!

i smile and offer
the best of my critiques of course
empathy running too far into my core
and the naive understanding that all
poets hold the same truth.

and as i begin to take the baton
to set out on my journey of recitement,
i see my comrades eyes glaze over
to the toaster where her thoughts now linger
and remain.

and not as i had hoped on the syllables
and motifs i had painfully extracted
in the midnight hours of my
bedroom rumination.

and there your brain remains
as i run my last lap around the
sweet syllables of my favorite words.
topacio Jan 2016
i am growing more and more
into the person whom will be worthy of him,
and him of me
but i fear i will be marred with bitterness
wondering why he was never there to help.
topacio Nov 2015
you gave me a neglected book
and I mistook it for love.
i tried to find hidden meanings
lurking between the spaces.
i waited for it to pop out from the pages
to hit me in the head
with all it's
senseless rage,
attempting to
command me into belief
with the words you couldn't find on your own.

but alas,
the words never arose,

i massacred
i pillaged
i maimed
and threatened
your book from
front to back
i interrogated under the blinding light
in a cold room
without food or water
and it gave up its
muted fight.
and spoke of page 47
and the weightless paper cup
rode the back of
the western wind.
and I recounted my findings to you
and what had lurked on page 47,
but you had confessed to
have never read the book before.
topacio Oct 2012
in that second i gave you something
a part of me
like a poet scribbling words
a musician strumming a chord
a piece of my disorganized puzzle
spewed out in a midnight conversation

                                     those things that make a part of you
     bit by bit
small and insignificant
without the aid of time
to stack them into

every thoughtful comment
a piece of truth
that rarely sees the light of day

its a very instantaneous exchange
it meant something
not alot
but it was a shrivel of life one's not used to giving
to just anyone

hope you felt it as much as i did
when you placed it up for bid
topacio Oct 2018
bad poems
never cease to
inspire me
more than the
greatest poems

and i don't know
if its because i feel like
i can do better
or if i relate more to
the state of ugliness
than i do of
topacio Aug 2020
there is a little clause within
their contract,
a small fee
some people don't see.
and that is
with every minute spent
on this device
we will take five minutes
of your creativity,
of your ability to self love
of your ability to tap into nature
of your once keen sense of awareness to your surroundings
of your eyesight
please sign here.
topacio Oct 2022
I tried to imagine a city
without a cause.
Was it just the country?
Was it just James Dean
stuck in Indiana,
slinging shots of
espresso along
the main strip?

Imagining this city
without her cause,
felt like taking the
song away from the
opera singer,
or making butter
without the churn.

The city always needed
friction to run properly,
a soundtrack of gossip and
tire screeches making
their way to the surface,
an invitation for
us to step into
the womb of its
mortal coil.

We climb in,
with our desperation
and seek answers
to the meaning of
what is human,
adjusting smiles to
carry the weight
of what's expected of us.

While the birds remain
in their trees,
light as wind,
next to their babies
crying out,
look at the
mess you've made,
be still, already.
topacio Apr 2018
i haven't come out yet
and i don't know how else to say it
especially to
my mother, the nurse
my father, the electrician
my brother, the politician
my sister, the wise ***
i don't know how to say that
i have an affection for words
i have been hiding the paints under my bed
and staring at the guitars from
outside the window
unable to resist how hard
the urge is to touch

i am a closeted artist yet to come out
and admit that i've had an affair
with a few museums and paint brushes

that i have been memorizing poems
from before i could read
committing some verses to memory
as my mother recited them to me softly before bed

and as i stand here waiting in the closet
im sketching a small butterfly on the wall next to my coat
ill most likely wear to the off broadway show tonight.
topacio Aug 2021
how many of you
do I have to ****,
to gracefully unravel
a written rose from
the depths
of my soul?
topacio Sep 2022
The high priestess sun
and the moon
on a throne
of space
were all
people could
write of
took over
the face.

Galileo liked to kiss
his telescope with an
eye full of curiosity
jotting down notes
of invention,
while Monet stared
so hard at flowers
he came back as
pollen riding a bee.

The wind whispered
a different tune
back then,
it had a voice
and plenty a
listening ears
to land on.

I heard the sea
also slept with sirens,
who slept with sailors,
that slipped into stories
we don't know to be
true or false.

I wonder what it was
like when two worlds
knew how to coexist,
when humans
lived with magic,
and without
the need to

But I believe
we have glued
our wings too
close to the sun,
we never got the
chance to fly.

I often see
our finish line
in the way
we treat
each other,
save for the
select souls
who can still
sing the
siren song,

who can sit
with silence
and heartbeat,
swim into deep
hours of nothing
and bring back
jotting it down
as verse or book.

Let us inch closer and closer
to this forgotten behavior, you and I.
topacio Apr 2020
i know there is a good poem in me
i can feel her
she's underneath a stack of  
recipes and US weekly articles
underneath the lined shelves of
unopened emails and spam,
buried deep deep
under the information
stored on my various tabs,
and daily stress and responsibility
she is there
dancing with the pelicans over a crystalline bay
singing the song of a siren
her hands gliding over the wind
i know she's there
that saucy minx
come out and play with me already.
topacio Oct 2022
I can't remember when
I started to see color,
maybe it was when
I chose you as
my lover.

Or when the delicate hum
of conspiracy wrapped its
violent claws around my waist,
and I learned how to speak her tune.

The grey landscape turned blue
when I chose to see my lens through you.
topacio Sep 2022
It is striking to believe how
little applause the morning
bird gets after her daily song,
as she sits perched on
her branch marking
her territory like
the dog and
his lifted leg.

But then again,
I dont believe birds
undersand the
nature of applause,
inasmuch as the
worm wiggling
his way out
of the dirt or
the cat's eyes
darting into
their direction.

These are thoughts
that overtook my
mind as I wrestled
with my coffee to
turn the key to my
mind’s engine already,
feeling as if I was
once again but
a fingernail
inside my
topacio Sep 2022
I take off my enthusiasm nightly
like a cloak of bad behavior,
or a well-worn brassiere,
oh great sigh of relief.

I let my feelings melt onto the
***** floors where they feast
upon debris for their supper,
them wild things.

I let fall my voice and laughter too,
my propensity to smile thereafter,
dangle them on rusty hooks,
them ****** things.

Rid me of thee until the sun rises.
I enjoy my night straight up
without the decor of my day
holding me down like an
anchor to the parade.

The night always brought
with her a certain sensibility,
of ownership and reclaim.
I shall take back that
which the day has taken.
She fills in the cracks
the night has put upon me,
let me break in peace,
for that is all I wish to do.
topacio Aug 2023
There are lots of ways to
watch the babbling brook,

eyes closed fishing for
memories in a nook.

There are lots of ways to
walk along park trees,

a deep awareness of green
and the sound of autumn's breeze.

There are lots of ways to
name the sturdy rose,

white petal pearls  
and her iceberg clothes.

But today is for nature
and her in-between silence,

like a grey stone
tucked between dirt
we look to for guidance.
topacio Mar 2015
emergence is an act of rebellion.
our eyelids peaking open like rusty curtains
as we steadily count backwards
5 … 4 … 3 …  2 … 1
climbing from our morning covers in one swift movement
like the bold musketeer ready to pierce his opponent.
allowing the cold to wash over our body
towards the to do lists and outdoor morning mist.
legs miraculously sprung to life from our dreams
seconds ago resting in a field of sunlit streams.
allowing forced smiles to emerge in the mirror
if the natural ones forgot to attend our morning ritual.  
those cowards.
allowing our own smiles to send butterflies down our spines
if our lovers forgot to play their part.
those *******.

our routines steadying us on the road
outside the house
into the yard
outside the fence
into the deli
out of your mind
into the grind
all forming like some rapid fire kiss of motion
where emerging and departing
become inseparable lovers.
and we cherish this sort of alchemy
where our paints emerge as paintings,
where our words turn into poems
that string along
into song

the pulsing of life echoes within
calmly waiting
to emerge
from the gilded cage
we are meant to burst open
topacio May 2020
every day you must add a drip
to the well of creativity
flowing within you.

a word here
a lyric there
a small drip
no need
for the flood
my dear
breathe into it

drop by drop
little by little
topacio Sep 2019
i don't know
how many times
i need to reinvent myself
to eventually get to myself
with every milestone
that is a mountain
the hurdles i swerve over
taking a piece of me into it
at times a fair offer
a lesson for a limb
an eye for an eye
until it has swallowed me whole
and there is nothing left to learn
and nothing left of me
but the blank canvas to start anew
topacio May 2020
you cannot
write poetry
you cannot
be honest.

your words are
from the minds
of others.

i hope to one day
see you shine
the way i know you can.

i hope you wipe the smear
from the
mirror i know you
so desperately
seeks answers from.
topacio Aug 2022
Sometimes you read a poem
and your glass becomes full,

more often you read a poem
and your glass stays the same,

Sometimes you read a poem
and see their glass is filled with wine,

and yours is filled halfway with 2% milk
or maybe it's an old milkshake,

which begins the endless journey
to fill your cup to the brim,

to become a caretaker of creation
an alchemist of thoughtful transition,

to turn your glass of cow mucus
into a glass of fine French wine.
topacio Dec 2022
Do you hear that in the distance?
It is your silence asking you
to throw her to the tides,
she sees you are overdue
for a lesson in sound,
she sees the people who
putter about yearning for
that unsung chorus tune.

Leave her with her compatriots,
doubt and worry, just for a moment,  
you can return to their measures of
circular comforts tomorrow.

Leave her with the ash from last nights smoke,
you built in your minds midnight eye,
the fraught furnace of your future fantasy.

Your silence will arise again,
as she does with every passing moon,
she is tied to you like an anchor to a ship,
or maybe she is your ball and chain,
one cannot presume a relation
that shifts in tune with the northern wind.

She will always be greater than you, accept it.
And she wants nothing more than
to survive in this loud world,
she claws towards it from her thirsty well
where the people drink from her,
where they drink her up and
never retain her hydration,
she's learned to put holes in
her infrastructure to
vacate the premise,
her well dripping dry
of all her subtle wisdoms,
so that when you hoist your
bucket down and pull it
back up, you hear nothing
but the echo of air and dryness,
for there is nothing
like sound that
fine tunes and
greases up her
topacio Sep 2022
I dont want to
cradle your
head with a
soft pillow,
no more
than I want
to hear the
remind me
is here.

I don't
want you
to believe
that I am
good at
I do,
or have
a clue of
what it
is that I
do in
fact do.

I want to
nestle my
veins in that
there thorn
of your brain,
to pick
and pluck
to swim
in muck.

I want to run
blade first
into what
failure has
to offer,
a warm dinner
with fine dine silver.

I can make you
out with just
your cheek
and toe,  
there's a
silence in
your glow.

I never saw
the appeal
of applause,
or **** offs
a sycophant
and her
head full
of braids.

Two excitable lips
were never
better than
the funny
man's quips,
with their
flashy red,
and their
he said
she said,
I turn
my neck.

Shall I make
sense to you?
I am a train
without the
choo choo.
I am failure.
I am pause.
I won't do
what you
tell me to.
topacio Apr 2020
Going in
Can be hard
When you don’t know
If it’s
Or angels
That inhabit you
topacio Aug 2020
and with your introduction
so begins my inability
to make to do lists
because all i want to do
my dear
is you.
topacio Jul 2022
I've never been to The Grand Canyon.

In fact, as far as canyons go,
I've only been to two or three.

And each time I slide into that mineral womb,
I am wrangled into a new identity.

I've become a waffling man
stumbling headfirst into his first love,

A child staring into the
smoky barrels of adulthood,

A castaway stranded at sea,
the center of a tornado,

A speck of dust on a speck of sand,
a decorative ring on a gentle hand,

And a dog lost in the woods
who has lost his urge to howl.

At this point, I have resigned
myself to fervently avoid you.

Seeing that smaller forms
can ****** me into a tailspin of identity,

I don't care to know what your grandness will reveal.
I think I might dare to give you my life,

before you decide to shoot me into the
dizzying preamble of my next form.

So for now, I'll make do with carrying your spirit,
as long as we are in agreement that you carry mine.
topacio Sep 2022
What good is a conclusion
without anyone there to hear it?
Is what I wondered when
I realized I did in fact
love the man who
asked me where
my smile was,
even though I
know I wasn't
supposed to.

I often ask myself
the same question,
strange man,
usually after I see
the sharp corners of
my mouth ache
for their lost soft.
and something foreign
has taken its place.
a slow settle
like the
thick fog
that sweeps
over orca waters,
usually right after
a month's long fight
with a pen or falling
too far from my
blanket of zen.

Maybe I'm not meant
to smile this year.
I am after all happily
engaged to my year of solemn,
another conclusion
I came to on my
road of conclusions.

And yet although
I have no one to
speak to on my
epiphonous road,
these conclusions
do exist and  
will persist,
despite what
the others
topacio Sep 2012
he told me i was living in fear
and i thought i wasnt supposed to be here
a sign hangs above his living room couch
"the police ruin everything"
i want to disagree but i control my thoughts
i build a wall between them and my mouth
the same one he built
and her and them and we and us
i can tell by the furrowed brows and tell tall signs
by the words that come out only when we drink our nightly wine
i climb on top of him
in his room of american flags, broken records and leopard ware
faux patriotism and hipster runoff mixed with nonchalant dishevel
i kiss his sweaty neck  
my mind is always down south
even now
where my toes peep out of my socks
curious of the present moment and the theme of tomorrows thoughts
topacio Nov 2015
she sat in the center of her home
becoming the heart of the halls
the blood drifting in and out of
the corridors,
the clot that stood still in the living room
unable to move to the next destination
stuck staring at the dusty painting
that haunted her tendency
to fix that which does not
need fixing,

humming the delicate tune
which ascended into the aorta
of her kitchen,
all the way
to the apex of her attic
and finally folding into itself
like the towels in her
chamber of cabinets,
before unraveling out
through the long vein
of her chimney,

the housewife who
makes a living
with sharpened bread knives
and turning scones into
christmas trees,
who croons ancient love songs
in her infinite spare time,

and i wonder as i
stare at her
from underneath my book
of russian poetry,
how she holds up
when the front door bursts opens
and nature sings
a solo to her heart.
topacio Jul 2022
I want all my lines to pack a punch
but all I hear after each line's jolted rush,
is to crawl back from whence I came,
to remain there with a hush.

your gender won't allow it
your race won't allow it
privilege soaked woman
with fair skin, pretty mouth, oval eyes

stay in your corner with your hush
line up like the rest of them,
in between the dazzling city lights
allow your clothes to hug you tight

stay in your corner with your hush
dont speak of your misery into the night
when they have learned to scream louder,
crawl into dank spaces with a lofty smile
and hand out compliments on your grandma's gilded platters

stay in your corner with your hush
allow the woman to side-eye you
allow the man to side-eye you
while the world remains all ablaze
and the women fix their hair on murky bar mirrors

stay in your corner with your hush
don't speak too much, you'll give it away
that you are a breathing living entity of
fire, earth and water.

Don't dare relate them
to me or you
to he or they or them
for they have found more comfort
in separation than in likeness,
remain as unsharpened pencils in a box
dazzling in a row, ineffective for the prose,
stay in your corner with your hush.
topacio Jan 2020
i had a poem once tell me:
shut up and get to work.
take the string of electricity
just sent to you from the heavens
and weave me onto your paper
this line will only be available
for a short period of time
until we get annoyed with your
unwillingness to devote yourself,
and like the last girl who was also idly
staring into the blank abyss of her walls
we will reclaim our line and
shoot it on over to the grandmother next door
who sits ever so patiently with her tea
and a first edition copy of that new stephen king novel
she has been meaning to dive into.
her pen situated between her index and *******
and i reckon in that moment
i will finally be birthed
in the margins,
in between the paragraphs
speaking of white robes and blood.
topacio Oct 2022
You are there
and I am there,
or maybe I am there
and you are here,
or you are there
and I am here.
We are just toggling
back and forth
through the lanes
of time and space,
missing each other
always by just a
few seconds.
topacio Aug 2021
i looked into the
depths of what i could
possibly learn,
hugging the night's silence
in replace of a crowd,
just to hear her secrets.

and she said

sometimes you
will leave the light at
the end of the tunnel
with a lesson
in replace
of your lover

sometimes you will feel
the agenda of a union
an intuition
a gathering of spirit
welling up in yourself
speaking of some dire truth

grab it

your time with such and such
is coming up, you can not take him
or her of them or you,
with you on your next chapter
leave the lover
leave your mother
father and your brother,
and take the lesson.
topacio Sep 2012
it's the intuitive embrace
leaving no trace for the mind
to confirm its approval

its the embrace that happens to you
on a blinding tuesday when
questions don't abound

you do what feels natural
open arms and wide eyed
heart hanging off your sleeve

blood oozing through your veins
wounds open like a possibility
this embrace has kissability

this embrace can fix it all
you say
topacio Jan 2016
for you are too encompassing to ignore,
too statuesque to mute with the strings of my guitar,
& so i find the only way to repel you,
is to write of you.
is to sit in the eye of your storm
and allow the thick blanket of your skin
to unfold into me,
as i attempt to describe this experience to a t,
so that your uninvited presence becomes familiar.

        --  treacherous muse --
can become
my ally,  

so that when you eventually roll around again,
which you normally tend to do at the
crisp start of a burgeoning evening,
i can welcome you
with my open arms
and an empty chair,
and we can
use our sharpened vocabulary
to battle
over the
of stillness.
topacio Feb 2023
Why does the cabbage
provoke such hatred,
unlike the sugar cookies
in their red lace box?

Why does the lover know
the way of the garden so well,
yet stampede off the path
and into the daisies?

It's the same as why
you must contend with the
aftermath of your family,
and become the spy
amongst the shrubs.

It's the same as why
we must speak to our
uncles like cherub angels
who know nothing of
their places in the cosmos,

and bite into our
strawberries to
find nature's
emerald right
there in front
of everyone
to witness,
glowing with
answer and resolve.

It will always
be just a strawberry
      to them.
topacio Mar 2015
i killed a gnat on my shirt today
and now he sits there dead
next to a hole
which is starting to look
more and more
like his twin brother.
both black spots reminding me
of the ***** dishes and laundry
and the difference between dogs
in the city and country.
topacio Apr 2020
lean into it, my dear.

lean into your future,
even though your past
calls you with a
romanticized nostalgia.

lean into your new lover,
even though the warmth of
an old flame burns bright.

lean into the freshness of tomorrow,
even though the
chapters of yesterday
remain unwritten
and beckon for your words and return.

because my darling there is nothing
bolder than turning away from
the putrid pages of yesteryear in
search for a new self.
topacio May 2020
who still needs to hunt
when injured,
so do you.
need to fix repair move
faster than ever
on your own
without your pack.

laser movement
in the dark
blind to whats ahead,
instincts guiding you
more than you know,
passed down
in your bones
from the
generations before.
topacio Feb 2023
I lifted up the sky to
find a thermostat,
a small child fiddling
with all the dials.
And the clouds,
they were just the
soft heels of giants,
delicately managing
our inevitable collapse,
weaving the perfect story
to let us down gently.

Turns out we are just
a bunch of marbles
on the shelves of
champions who
simply enjoy our
sunset colors.
topacio Sep 2017
if i make a poem out of iphones,
people will actually start taking
a liking to the forgotten form.

i can make every phone sing
with a new hit song
at the perfect time
as your eyes glance over them
while they offer you a new promotion
to go with your completed poem line.

and as you are thinking about the confusing
symbolism between a flea and blood,
you can also get 50% off
your next purchase at Target.
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