The fret removed
from music,
the takamine rouge.
I had to pull the frets
remove them from
the bass.  A fretless bass
from top to bottom,
a very note trued.  
But the weight
its gone
from the tune.  
Hours upon hours
spent on 50 cents in
silver.  I said fretless
bass and they left
untendered.  
Oh, the tether
do they hang.  
As St. Jude proclaims...
"There! Shame!"
All of it do I play,
as do winged instruments
of this very day.
To due, I had too.
Say, his majestic melancoly.  
On two Harvard Squares,
I say,...
I had too.

In a tragic of despair
that she could espy of something unseen
but what I know now in the nowhereness of triumph is the oblivion that’s long forsaken . My mother, the earth , has loved the truth of my words . My mother of memories, where my intricate roots embedded in her many wombs , with her,
my mother who is the mind to my soul, with her crystal teeth, puncturing the veins of my spirit, I am uncured from the illness of illusion.
with the love that is filled with the sickness of the cerebral ;
that every nerves, they only now yearn to forget, to erase, to delete,
what should never end , will ;
of those forward to ,
is like catching light,
my mother's arms, wrapping my dead body,
for that great freedom that ought demands
but now encountered swords that I see no farther onward impulse stirr'd,
from every dew-drop in this sequestered heart.
it inculpates the soul’s wigwam,
to love , that is unpure
powered of perception ;
for me , do so as what say I
the abyss will never know -- without noise, bad field of unfamiliarity, to create the creation of layers, layers of spectre, phantasm, apparition;
I exorcise & exterminate this being of nothingness, name that is uncelebrated ; & be merrily skipping in their long farewell,
you gave your face , I gave mine
& there shall be a bow of
hypothesis, musings, mirage

I inject, dementia
trying responsibly to digest over
my own ignis fatuus
/
there will be hanging gardens
the commotion of untendered bones
down beneath your cloaks,
knowing sympathy, to bully an empathy
death come, came & in repeat
through the lullaby of Antioch,
sorrow wholly unexpected, in scarcely discernable; but far descried
black winged demon vanished through the chested barrier of feelings, when justice lynchings in the centre of my core,

twixt vows, where from descended upon myself alone, indecent, in deep scrutiny —

This last ride almost over,
  the train coming to a stop

The mighty engine slowing down,
  my ticket punched and clocked

With words I left untendered,
  in towns along the tracks

My thoughts there drift upon the wind,
  my legacy attached

This journey seemed redundant,
  the scenery looked the same

But voices never heard before,
  cry out and call my name

The conductor gives fair warning,
  his face I know so well

“A turnout waits, the tracks will switch,
   to heaven—or to hell”

(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2017)

Blindly spending the
  bulk

Of my temporal
  capital

Hourly deficits
  started to climb

And piled into
  notes

I will never  
  repay

Stored in vaults
  that I’ll never find

Words lay
   uncashed

As I waste even
  more  
  
In my attempt to go
  back and re-sign

All those debts
  left untendered

Never forgiven
   now due

That fate
  has secured
    —and defined

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)

Overspending the bulk
  of my temporal capital

Hourly deficits climb
  and pile into notes

Debts I’ll never repay
  stored in vaults I can’t find

Words lying uncashed,
  as I write overdrawn  
  
Pledging to go back
  and re-sign what’s untendered

I’m unforgiven—overdue,
   my fate unsecured

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)