The mind it yells ‘imposter’
Each time I find the time to write
Never telling who I am, only telling who I am not.

Squawking, sulking in my ear
Drives the pen, the words to veer,
Drives the mind to that of Lears,
Into the sullenness of my volition.
Imposter, Imposter - not a syndrome but a title;

The title of my biography, the world’s class joke
The worlds least known, the worlds last hope.

I have a Saviour but I am my own,
Rather, I insist to be my own.

Hypnotized by the shadow, or not a shadow but a void,
A black void, not empty but falling,
Falling deep and a miss, falling, falling to my abyss -

Imposter Void Imposter, write your sweet nothingness,
I pity myself but I go on, Imposter Void Imposter -
Sympathetic, the abyss lends it’s kiss.

From shelves and racks, or lying in stacks, Books,
Of all ages and epochs—adolescents and youths,
Aged and venerable, and e’en those in decrepitude,
Much eloquent, but in all silence, share with us
Experiences wide ranging, emotions well pent up,
Passions, love and hate, and joys and sufferings,
Triumphs, failings, histories, biographies and maxims.

A pat or stroke, or appeal in awe, or in supplication,
They’d unleash to you, in varied moods and temper,
Their stories, in letters, words, phrases, sentences;
In prose or verse on folios, or in acts and scenes,
Of Helens, Quixotes, Falstaffs, Holmes and Othellos,
In the highs and lows of their pleasures and pathos,
Of Lears, Tristans and Isoldes, and procrastinators.

Of the plucks and spirits of Arjunas and Achilleses,
Of the failings of the ill-fated Kareninas and Bovaries,
Of the unwavering faith of Jobs, Noahs and Abrahams,
Of the lovelorn Sakunthalas, and Sitas under Simsupa,
Of God’s Garden, and of the wisdom of the Himalaya,
They speak in silence, of the real and the imagined,
As mighty godlike genies waiting for our summons!

Stop
Laughing like that.
you sound **A bit
Pathetic.

Hide that smile.
hIde that frown.
Thank your lucky stars.

Steam from the shower
Clears the mind and
Reveals the
mArks left behind
because I am Too fair or
should I say Caucasian
looking, Hispanic
doesn't comE
acrosS clearly like the mind.

Thank you, thank you, thank you, to
Everyone but me
becAuse I never got
anywheRe on my own.

Here lies the secret,
Eat it like dessert:
All of this has been done before
Little doesn't even come close to describing me.

Melt into movement
Ease into enjoyment
kNeel into knowing
Drown in deliverance.

Scratch.
Cover.
Again.
Repeat.

From shelves and racks, or lying in stacks, Books,
Of all ages and epochs—adolescents and youths,
Aged and venerable, and e’en those in decrepitude,
Much eloquent, but in all silence, share with us
Experiences wide ranging, emotions well pent up,
Passions, love and hate, and joys and sufferings,
Triumphs, failings, histories, biographies and maxims.

A pat or stroke, or appeal in awe, or in supplication,
They’d unleash to you, in varied moods and temper,
Their stories, in letters, words, phrases, sentences;
In prose or verse on folios, or in acts and scenes,
Of Helens, Quixotes, Falstaffs, Holmes and Othellos,
In the highs and lows of their pleasures and pathos,
Of Lears, Tristans and Isoldes, and procrastinators.

Of the plucks and spirits of Arjunas and Achilleses,
Of the failings of the ill-fated Kareninas and Bovaries,
Of the unwavering faith of Jobs, Noahs and Abrahams,
Of the lovelorn Sakunthalas, and Sitas under Simsupa,
Of God’s Garden, and of the wisdom of the Himalaya,
They speak in silence, of the real and the imagined,
As mighty godlike genies waiting for our summons!

She killed my brother, so I'll **** her
O what a glorious, glorious ******

There was no evidence, but still
Her burning guilt is all I feel

My brother was all I ever knew
But still she stabbed him through and through

The ****** sight made police unnerved
And thus justice was left unserved

Their fault, I take it in my hand
To be the hero of the land

I sharpen the knife, hide it away
And await her arrival on a warm summer's day

She comes-acting cheery- how can she be so?
How can she act merry and be all aglow?

I hate her more, where is her guilt?
Where is the shame on this pile of filth?

Is she glad to be rid of my poor deceased brother?
O he that loved her with love like no other?

He that trusted and gave her all kisses?
How dare she **** him! How can she not miss him?

She talks, and a fake tear appears
All that I give her is anger and lears

She looks so confused and steps towards the door
As I move my hand to inside the drawer

The knife, shining- ******!- slides into her chest
Twice to the right, and one in her left

She falls to the ground, reaching for me
Oh, what a sight, a sight what to see!

My brother avenged! Justice was given
But now the knife must be put back and hidden

The body be covered and buried with care
My innocence perfect when police come to there

They found her body, still I don't fret
For I am as harmless as harmless can get

The police came to interview, just to do that
So calmly I sit, and happy they sat

Questions? I give them a most solid alibi
And serving them tea to satisfy

I stand to prepare it, and keep with the talk
And hand cups to them with a small cough

One gets up and looks for a spoon
And, forgetful, I point him to my doom

For he opens the drawer and he looks right at me
He holds up a knife for all to see

The dried blood streaks are only proof made
O fateful, O cursѐd, O severing blade

They lock me up tight, I spit at them, hiss
I'm innocent! Innocent as innocent gets!

I killed her because she killed my brother
I served justice more than any other!

They shook their heads and show me a note
Before he died was what he wrote

“But he was thrice stabbed, is this a lie?”
“Yes it was,” police say, “Suicide.”

I do not believe them, they are insane
My brother, and sister, did not die in vain!

Because she killed my brother, and I killed her
And I am NOT guilty of senseless ******

by the shore, by the sea
Flush the weary light of saviors
Against a cheek so emblazened with divide
The starlight of peasants and paupers
Engraving paths into the gray of tides
Where footsteps sink into the mercy
Heaven thick with hope and sand
The shore of worlds standing
At the pulpit
Where attention lears into the grand
Enshrined like clever mourning
Weeps endowed with lifted hand
Sorrow like the dove
Of counted souls
Who fare in shadows longing
And burn quietly into the end
Their fables small and bound
Elegant and wide for searchlights
Driven high
And tantamount to frail beginnings
And ever stated ends

Fantasies still female
But experience an Abyss

La Florida in Fall
Long ago first kiss

Just to be held and holy
Tears, idle tears

In the bath for hours
Drifting toward my fears

     No more King Lears!