Rough fingertips, worn and calloused Touch the air and tell me otherwise They have pulled a trigger And caressed the luminous silk of An infant’s head. The have massaged a heart that stopped beating - To no avail And cracked the fingers of a rival in a whirlpool Of spiral fractures. They have made music... Continue Reading →
I had no idea that bump in the night was Cocaine, That the sweet smiles and caress was induced euphoria, The monster under my bed or in the closet was next to me In the form of her need. Malignant and corrupting something pure - Loving. I know how she felt, save I was addicted... Continue Reading →
There is a time in the morning where the dew coalesces in every sense like a temporary love, the infinite conceivable universe laid bare in a drop of water clinging to an emerald blade, a weed found lovely by a child, troublesome by an adult. The undulating juxtaposition of life and non life rendered inconsequential... Continue Reading →
I wrote this sonnet in classic Elizabethan form out of Respect for Keats and because I am a hopeless romantic. Though I understand this form to be archaic, it is nonetheless beautiful. Also, I know it's not any form of classical Ode in style, but who cares. It's dedicated to her.
Imagine if you will waves of Eminem running in sync with Mozart, Bing Crosby and Mexican Polka. Crescendo meets profanity, Sonorous hum and accordion keys resonate in a voiceless disregard impacting leaded crystal in high C with no sound. That's what shatters, not the body, nor the internal working organs that seem to hurt and crack,... Continue Reading →