She is cute, she is small
She's got a pretty round face that glows like sunlight
She is got a pretty little mouth with white glowing teeth that brings a perfect smile to her face
Her breath smells like the scent of roses
Her cute big eyes look like those of Slow Loris
Her hands are tiny like little rat claws
Her little feet like the feet of a deer
And her tininess brings perfection out of her.

and they are always going on
telling me about the stars
the moons
the distant points in space
with beings greater and wider and vaster
and emotions that are millions of times more complex
tragedies thousands of degrees more heartbreaking
creatures that see countless colors that we shall never even discover
and then they say to me
you are ugly
you are worthless
you are so ugly
look
see how they will never click you
lick you
see how they will never
like you
you are ugly
you are worthless
you are so stupid
and you don't even realize
trap yourself in your world of delusion
it always works out in the end
do you know the depths of your tininess
do you comprehend the meaninglessness of your being
can you realize the unrealness of your very existence
sometimes
I truly doubt you can
and I take it all in
I let them shove their hatred
their dark and putrid thoughts
into my head
let them defeat me and wring me out
drying out my insecurities
and reminding me of my minusculeness
my utter worthless wonder
my stupid
sorry self

Starlit nights bring a sense of tininess.
The vast soot-stained cloak of the sky,
pierced with so many tiny scintillating
spots of vim opalescent flares, is a heavy
intoxicant. It contains a thing most panache.
A girlish teetotaler beside me says,
"We're like those stars, distantly inflamed,
lost in a void of what we cannot know."

She is most apt in her contrivance.
I wish to be castellated, terraced
with Byzantine buttresses and towers-tops.
I want a portcullis for my portico that is
made mostly out of gold, an inner bailey
where the stars can sleep and the wine may flow.
I want the wine most metaphysical,
the type that flows and churns, perning
inside the inner sanctum of the mind.

she walks barefoot across the lake
with sultry arrival of soft night
forest welcomes perennial wanderer of violet sky
silently stealing through heaven's stage
focus of all lonesome lunatics
and misfits

red sunset loses tinge by the passing minute
held captive by maroon horizon
distant sounds of rattlers in woods
grow louder in blackness
as shadows of tall grasses melt into
loose sights of night
goblets of lilies flanking mossy path-stones
ooze a pale odour
crawly denizens of dark venture out
on the meandering curve of flowing brook

coat of sky now a deep purple
with sparsely spread dots
which nobody bothers to join
for stars too impatient to hide
will reveal themselves soon
in chariots, warriors, princesses, muses
charts of bears big and small
to beings of forest
along with the lady's different faces you see
one dripping rays on sweet tongues of mango trees
one sneaking past the reflection of hill in lake
one snugly held in cradle of cotton clouds
spied on by distraught creatures

long story short
it is absurd that the firefly in this mix
could hold a spectacle
against the pretty moon for longer than
a twist of the summer breeze
yet somewhere in mist that surrounds its tininess
it dances audaciously
glows with desire to be one amongst the stars
guarding a fire in its chest
that golden ember it houses
shine that puts diamonds to shame
in aromatic wilderness of mossy forest beds
or does it really

it can dance with her
pretend to play lyre with strings of her beams
chase the gleam her light casts on the lake
perhaps float on wafting scents
of flowers embracing the night
hopelessly drenched in a surreal dream
in hours spent with her every night

but the glow in its chest cannot
find a reflection through her eyes
warmth in the breeze cannot
melt the moon to its ground
to some unknown realm
where everything is nothing
and nothing is all it could wish for
until the meaning of its being
fades to oneness with her
if only it could be

the nectar of night is almost spilled out
through jar of time
her bright visage slowly drifting out of sight
strength in the firefly's heart withers
lets go of the captive desire
the luminous play of love

now the wings are tired
glow dimmed
dim as the bears and swans charted in sky
cinders turn to grey ash  
and white smile on moon's face
pours through a sieve of clouds
to fall on its sleeping body
coated in red moss

Growing up I never had any pets
My adorable baby brother grew to be the centre of all attentions
My parents were way to busy working
Keeping us afloat
To pay attention to this skinny dreamy girl
I've been to crèches
Where the owners 18 year old son used to hit me
I've sat at the doorsteps of my house
Hours and hours
Hoping the cook would let me

Home lost its appeal
I saw it as a place to live
Not a place to love
Loneliness grew to be my closest companion
My dreams and troubles too complicated
For the simple minds of 8 year olds
12 years later
Things have changed
I've grown into a woman
One I could someday admire
But the 8 year old hasn't left
The one who craves love
Who sits by the doorstep of faith knocking
Begging for the strength to hold on

12 years later we got ourselves a tortoise
Marco the solitary explorer of our house
He was not mine to keep or love
A birthday gift just for my brother
But he grew on us all
Bringing out slowly the love we had long since locked away
In my recent months of hiding
He became my companion
Someone so tiny
Who could never speak
Yet listened so intently when I spoke
Whose curiosity and laziness rivalled my own
We had a understanding
A relationship
I was always careful with him
His tininess terrified me
I've hurt too many in the past
Not this time I vowed

But I ******* it all up
Early morning routines passed in a hurry
My selfishness got the better of me
As I hustled into another work day
And just as I lugged my work for the day into the next room
I felt something hit my foot
And a squeak that turned my blood to ice
There he was
Hidden inside his shell which lay upside down
Time slowed down to seconds
As I rushed to set him straight
Praying he was okay

And even though my mom says he's okay
I can't get rid of the guilt
That painful squeak runs clear in my mind every passing second
I don't deserve him
I could have killed him
I almost did
The problem is always with me

I'm the hurricane of insanity
Of fuckedupness redefined
I could have killed him
I almost did

A black dot at a distance, going up and down with the waves
appearing and disappearing, in the dancing rays;

I lie at the seashore, with my darkly tinted glasses on;
shaded by the brightly coloured umbrella above

Basking in the cool shade, and loving the fresh air
I see the black dot; such tininess, against the blue backdrop

Huge ships and jet boats, swoosh the waters;
creating white rush; glamorous, in the mid-afternoon spell

Time ticked off its way to dusk; growing the dot;
giving it body and life; and before I knew more,

Men with galloping energy, stood there at the shore;
Their muscle flexed and zeal pulsated through the air

I searched for the disappearing dot through my tinted eyes;
emptiness of the sea, stared back, from the dusking sky

As the crowd swallowed me to follow the thrilled voices,
of the rugged men of the sea, standing tall, on their fishing boat

I stood there; a disappearing dot in the crowd;
discerning more than my tinted eyes could see.

I have called out often to you
and I have craved your intervention.
Never really sure if you exist at all,
I still sought for your attention.

I searched the faiths a many
and I have tried to understand.
What it was that I must do
to reach out to your open hand.

My faith has wavered greatly
as my time has ambled on.
Yet often did I pray to you,
though at times my faith had gone.

So many times did I reach for you
from the depths of my despair.
Hoping for some magic sign
that you were standing there.

I have looked upon the world and universe,
To see its beauty and its terrors too.
In some unseen and mystifying way,
these things all cry out a testament of you.

I have come to think that we,
are not at the centre of your plan.
Your universe so vast in purpose,
for the tininess of a single man.

Endless chaos and reconstruction,
on a scale that a lifetime can't comprehend.
Recycling endless matter,
on a path seemingly without an end.

Yet you gave me mind and time,
to see this snapshot of the plan.
Giving cause for hope that you can hear,
the prayers of this small man.

there is nothing. And the wide night seems to toil outward into dark space of cut with just a strand of light it peers gauntly through rain up climbing with difficult precise silence seems to wander into the nooks and crooks its deep blanket of void stirs from which not a whisker or a claw of the fast cat sleep into nighting with deep purring of smooth body.

(how many more totally unimportant ultimately priceless nights will pass like from me out of lips and fingers into nothing without random seeming jounce of colorless minutes?

i can't know wouldn't want to even if tomorrow was the last sublime gasping of complete mundanity.

washing a dish is like that.

flush with hot hands in water drinks around fingers and lather coils in blossoms of vibrant tininess.

i cannot say i love Anyone or Anything perhaps i can love the rust of an old dying city the gable of a church girl and the collapsed rushing of immanent life.

or maybe i'll press into days and nights my body to be of some excellent stuff most economic.

nots now the time to think of such a thing two hours to wake from going work in a boring old amazing flash of perhaps the last moment you will live.

a poem doesn't mean a **** thing and

Savages
The tininess of a smile
Come and gone like time rages
On and on, until love hates what is denial

Savages
The pout of done duty
Response and haunts
To quicken the pace of whimsy?

Savages
Hours with an insincere...
Drip, the count and pounce of what ages
So well, to drink is drunk in the name of fear?

Savages
Patience for a quiet question
Alive in the wind, for a silent chance
Is a realer tow, our only blessing?

Ravages
Taciturn notion in a capable whistle
The party of problems and legends
Of a sodomized justice, that knows my epistle...?