On You

Weather the storm; storms.
Gait them.
About face and straddle;
mount them.
Decimate it; let the universe mourn.

Freedom Flights at Night

Dragonflies;
They have an intricate dance.
Am I supposed to follow,
To mirror the truth in their rhythms?
My skin weeps…sometimes.
At other moments…
my insides wish to evacuate…
Can I fly with you?

High Horse

Strawberried scars

Maraviroc hegemony

Utopian discharge

I am splintered; starting to fragment.

What’s with all the blue lately…?

Sensual mutilation; mutualization?

Euphoric etcher.

On Matters of the Heart…

Your face silences me;
much like when a man who suffers, sees Death manifest from hair-thin air and smiles in spite of himself,
from entombing relief.

Objective (revision)

Why do I etch, drag, and stain across the page with such constant fervor?
Intrinsic values…
I’m slavering to craft
something beautiful;
A catechism,
reminiscent of tranquility,
out of the haggard,
denatured shards
Of life you left vivisected for me.

Mirrors

The art of poetry becomes more than words on a page in prose when the conductor of the pen wields it properly, and shadows of the mind are strewn about the room.

On Dating…

Etch my coconut,
Brand my beach,
Trope my jungle;
I tire of the bananas here.