"traversal" poems
The left of center
are in north bound throes of a dupe
and can't begin to forecast this wonder of polluted marvel,
in the morrow
my optics discharged in a catastrophic traversal
While whimsy and accidental feels like I've taken pills
a power rain this sobbing has spilled
No longer to be contained based on sheer will
Attacked by neurotic transcending
While sifting through files and photo stacks
Came across multiples of your smiling face
From when I shot you, a couple hundred miles back
No one would dare debase the abundance of your emitted grace
Bloodshot mist eyed and blind from tears
control lost during transport steer
Drips off my cheek pouring down my chest
Could make great sense to don a life vest
Filling up floorboards like a spraying firehose
Shattering cascades diamondize the windows
A single glance at an image turns farmland into rural seaquake
If they interview my lifeless corpse what a headline this will make,
turning tragedy into a foolish mistake
people will curse and laugh
Paved over roads now films unseen
when dusk fuse night from the weep my eyes dispensed
Elements effected by incidents
Rising waves climb over to decimate interstate 65
All over a tiny tear drop and her sweet smiling photograph
Oct 20, 2018
Oct 20, 2018 at 8:01 PM UTC
Amid the morning traversal
Isolated movement in peripheral optics
Flashing visions caught my attention
and passed so fast, then behind my back
This contrast casts playful blasts
Wondrous attacks upon question
But the sights ****** with me,
in a scarring way
like cutting into me
these incisions intent
Almost as if she's demanding me to prefigure
to anticipate her resolve in steps ready
Trap and trace her shadowy inhibition
An illusory female in swift glided mission
She wouldn't be paying me attention
If she didn't want me to see her
in an apparitions condition
Back and forth between ups and downs
Omission transmits imagination,
on repeat
As she comes and goes
Appears and disappears
In a childlike hide and seek
Transition to remission
My jaunting disposition was put to shame
While trying to chase and catch
This, her silhouetted composition
All the silent while
I cursed blame on my beloved,
for coming so close to smell her
but not letting me hold her
But in real time
She kept reclusive
in a remote wood...
So many days without
I would long and ache
While her abilities are endlessly innate
As determination continues to persevere
She is alive, just away
out there
This figure I imagine is only that
My need to see her presence is a desperate one
Creating her graceful body in modes of bliss
Any way shape or form these divine bits
Her transparency I am offered
Only it's the tangible I am wanting
Her actual body and hair and hillside profile
My style is my struggle
As is this continual desire
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 2:26 AM UTC
A warm breeze hits my face
But up my spine I feel a shiver,
How long must we carry on forth
Without a smell or sight of river.
The rocks of ages swim around my toes
As I carry my One on this shifting road --
The peril in the future I cannot dispose
For I know not what the Father knows.
Pastel drawn skies leave no indication or sign
Of who has dared travel,
In this massively miniature
Garden of gravel.
Footprints in the sand
Leave no trace of life,
Lies laid beneath our feet
To a soft electric beat.
No sustenance no rain,
Our bodies permeated by grains
No water to sustain
This traversal through pain.
Hand in hand
Through desert sand
My spine begins to shiver.
Just one more day I say to myself,
Just one more night of chill
Just one more step on this coarse white road,
As her legs begin to quiver.
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 7:42 PM UTC
an inchworm, up-ing and down-ing its way through my
intestines is not bright
green as it traverses the dark gloomy
lumen of my
insides.
darkness requires complete
darkness, no color, just
darkness, but at least it is
warm.
i do not know if the inchworm can
see but i hope it can feel
comfort in the
dark.
dear inchworm, i wish you
good fortune on your travels as you
measure my insides with
tenacious tickling loops.
Dec 3, 2017
Dec 3, 2017 at 2:26 PM UTC
Within the daily treads of modern traversal, there is nothing quite as soul-crushing as the escalator; its narrow scope and design, its unknowingly malevolent operation. It is such a cruel wonder it performs, consigning all existence upon it to one premeditated and mandatory path. It is the string drone of the modern orchestra; the hushed machination, a persistent contender in the cacophony.
Aug 13, 2019
Aug 13, 2019 at 1:19 PM UTC
the pavement cracked
like memory
from a thousand footfalls
of common traversal
changed forever by
our quiet regular use
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 8:38 PM UTC