Inexplicable

sometimes I do not write about
the depth of my grandmother’s gaze,
the texture of wet sand beneath my feet,
or the way people weave through summer rain —

sometimes all I need to write about
is your murderous fart
and my fight for survival.

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Siren’s Song

the lingering trace of maybe,
clinging to scuffed stiletto heels,
reminds you of those so(m)ber days
when there was just
you & the vast sea —
boiling over.

Dream A Little Dream

I rarely see the world’s golden glow
the way it is meant to be seen —
my eyes do not work that way
anymore

I see shadows play on asphalt &
sometimes a little light
shining through concrete cracks
while I do not rush the rush
& pretend to notice
all the colors.

– constant –

|In|sanity

a thin, red line hides |in|sanity —
just to paper-cut those strands of hope
when you stray too far.

never will you notice
the sharp sting of heartbreak
when you are used to the shards

& the echo of your footsteps
will not seem less hollow
on this side of the story.

– cavity –

Far Off Shore

I remember when
the first words out of my mouth
were not infested by
meandering termites &
my tongue still
felt alive

I remember when
fortune was not just
a four letter word —
but a one way ticket
to favored utopia

I remember when
there was still
laughter in the rain &
my hand did not stray from
touching yours.

– age –

A(path)y

all his qualities came
in varieties of neon black;
neatly folded
into the creases of her exuberance.
her smile faltered
on the morning of their third year
& when push came to shove,
she shoved.

– black –

Where The Wild Roses Grow

Will you not meet me underneath the waves?
‘Cause there I lie; I fear the Shadow’s Son —
who gently sings the Broken to their graves.

I was the bearer of a searing sun —
when you burned bright, burned fiercely in my heart;
burnt to the very core, it mattered none.

They say I loved you from the very start —
and did not see when envy drowned the light;
when boiling storms just tore my heart apart.

Yet, here I float, in seas of darkest night —
soon to be bound to whom my soul enslaves;
the Shadow’s Son, who whispers songs of blight.

I seek the One whose heart the darkness braves…
Will you not meet me underneath the waves?

( Terza Rima Sonnet)