Category: Poetry

The poetic expression of my artistic and aesthetic pillars along with some choice mixed-media.

  • Little Hollywood

    I’d like to die
    ahead of all the times
    I see you 
    kill me. 
    
    For the thousandth:
    
    I take you places
    to watch you enjoy them; 
    set blueberries on your tongue,
    giving life the bright eyes
    with dark, polychromatic rings
    warm me in the morning.
    
    equals cute 
    when what comes to mind
    
  • woh Or: How to Kill Time Without Killing Yourself

    Another mailbox 
    with a lump in its throat.
    Caught 
    on the drive there,
    like a virus catches on.
    Important letters to send;
    busy, busy, busy.
    If you can believe it.
    A barn so perfect
    it could only house
    endless flows
    of stench-free horse shit.
    A bit chilling to the eyes.
    
    No rush. 
    
    Melancholy 
    beneath their angelic
    vocal cords. 
    Whatever it takes
    to Ave Maria.
    Dulce et decorum est
    mori. 
    
    Really, the point,
    at your leisure please.
    
    He doesn’t scare her. 
    For how eccentric, 
    how pathetically odd
    he is
    and she’s fine with that. 
    
    I’ve sung this way
    since paper pilots
    wore leather flaps
    over their ears.
    I’ve also never
    seen the animals.
    
    Ugh, wrong notes.
    
    You can let go now,
    you neurotic
    sack of...
    Incredible how well
    we craft illusions 
    out of reality. 
    
    You can let go.
    
    I always thought 
    the universe was
    bigger.
    Not to sound ungrateful,
    but turns out someone 
    left their plastic model
    next to a set of steel bells.
    
    And it hit me.
    How did they
    even get there?
    Like ticks on your skin.
    When did they 
    cross over
    and start biting?
    They must have borrowed
    some poor sap’s webbing.
    Can't sit around on a 
    branch all day, right?
    Busy, busy, busy
    those ticks. 
    I'd believe it.
    
    ONLY ON A TUESDAY
    ONLY ON A TUESDAY 
    WOULD THIS EVER HAPPEN.
    I guess Thoreau
    Never heard of 
    “when in Rome.” 
    Please, let go. 
    
    
    
  • Specimen

    Please enter here. 
     	
     ____    __________________
    |                                             |                   
    D		                              P
    |		                              |
    O 	                                      A
    |		                              |
    N		                             N
    |		                              |
    ‘	                                      I    
    |		                              |
    T                                           C
    |            um, excuse me       |
    |     ...?                                   !
    |_______________________|
    
    		Yes?    So I can
    I want, I mean                    stick
                    around. 
    			Now I 
    see
    hold you        my
                                           little 
    
             glass slide
    				you. 'Cause you
    got                    it.                going going going 
    gone. going on. Got it on. 
    
               Baggy af. 
    
    			everywhere
    
      Filthy casual. By the time
    you 
                        cut 
      into                         pieces 
    the - no -      with  
       
                         the glass. A puzzle
    
    
    everywhere.
    
    
    Bang. Bang. 🙂
    
    
    Too late. I've got      
     
         the box. 
    
  • Atom Discovers Fire

    Today
    I discovered a new element.
    It cures ailments,
    makes people happy,
    and
    pushes past dark thoughts
    to transform
    this harsh, volatile world
    into a generally
    livable space.

    Naturally,

    scarcely little exists.
    We fight over it,
    hate over it,
    and altogether bastardize
    its original
    splendor
    for our selfish desires.
    Love:
    a fragile and clumsy thing.
  • Dradle

    A flight worth the fall
    not landing, 
    so much,
    as crashing.
    
  • Yesteryear

    Write songs 
    about drugs
    to moan about
    the gray loves;
    songs about
    love
    to contemplate
    the drugs
    I use
    to forget
    their stale breath
    
    deep morning sighs. 
    
  • 1000 Cuts

    I had to ask.
    I knew the answer
    before I asked,
    but I had to ask. 
    
    And it's okay. 
    It's all really okay. 
    
    Believe me,
    because I do.
  • NA

    I had that dream again.
    
    Angry with
    the glue
    sealing my 
    lips.
    Hot plastic
    slipping out.
    No idea
    what I’m 
    missing
    because when
    I see 70,
    I see a beach
    with a cold
    wind 
    up its spine. 
    
    Anyway,
    
    What are you up to?