The poetry exists in ignorance of my musings.
It clings to the crevices of life
in the nooks of idle minds and stolen glances of would-be lovers.
It does not care if I write,
though, I know that I must.
Feed
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Filthy
Leave your scrap. I am the excrement of the world. I crawl to the edge of the trash pile, salt it with earth and devour. Leave your disgust. I am the crazy you loathe and the strange you fear. I sing platitudes like a skipped record, scratching the cliff holds for dear life. Lay me in the dirt. I suffocate there thousands of years watching the strata pass. Cast me your stones and throw me in the pit. Belabor your glorious effort at my humble expense. If all else fails, burn the witch.
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Close Your Eyes, Passerby
Close your eyes: A tortuous path ‘round leaves, a smoky inhale, an acrid, honey exhale smiling sweet in the pane. It’s nice, they say, when your eyes open and that place you stay...
The ocean at the end of the lane, out there. Quietly waiting with the sun, we stare. Digging my own grave inside a bottle of Jack. Living life worth leaving and it ain’t half bad. Kill me with a smile; never take it back. Don’t know what’s waiting, passing through trees out there. A hazy, white wolf with a welcome-home glare. A knock at my soul hello to the ones who stay. Chilling with my friends fuck the rest away.
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Preposterous Ponderings: Pointless and Plain
If it seems complicated,
it is.
Isn’t that simple enough? -
A Most Patient Game
A quizzical creature bundled down. Quilted together, cut, from the same cloth - different scissors. Warm until tattered, somehow catching wind. A tired, musty dry line sagging and swaying. Moreover, the unreachable often still reach you. Crooked, but as usual, the only one in town.
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Benched
The bench spoke to me. I waited so long: the daily walks, the nervous glances, - hoping. I made excuses, now thinking about it, to walk by. Deluding myself to believe. No, I do like walking. I do like that bench. Around and around that gnarly, blood-footed path. And then sat, “please leave“ it requested. An underwhelming introduction, but chills and flutters still. I walk on.
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Lunch Break Microcosm
Watch the ants wander Cherries soften into earth Scattered leaves garnish
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Sanctuary
Cradle in the arms of pine needle anemone Wash in the light of magnetic, bleach sand The biochemical hum of gray matter overlapping white Subtle lucidity of this square foot garden Find your sanctuary, Build your peace
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A Mantra
Death before us, life upon us.
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Parasite Obsolete
A novelty, she turns each page with as much emotion as she reads. Petals pressed, feathers caught, stories from the back of the book; pages no one else sees. A leak in performance held by drying wrinkles. I stared at each word so long, clinging for dear life to everything she whispered, the slow march of typeface across skin. Dangling by fear and craving off the sidewalk’s end.
Scribbles 'n Bits 