Wastrel’s Words

what are words but sound decaying
how absurd, how profound, what are we saying
taken out of context, texting and perfecting
neglecting the reflection that glares from the surface
echoes etch away
sonically eroding the deepened valley
ricocheted dialogues
chip away our chipper ways
ardently absorbing infinite arrangements
yet flippantly forgoing featured subtext
utterance unfolding, unsurpassable
through the window of our mind
plausibly presuming, grooming narratives inside
to hide the looming paradox to which we’re all confined
adjectives synonymous to every known truth await
to be conveyed and captured
kept inside or pushed away
knowing these narratives which speak our only voice
detailing every moment
logging long, the loss of day
the thoughts that ground our consciousness
subconsciously displayed
will grant us not the notion, nor the knowing what to say
connected disconnection in impressions that we make
subjectively surround the severed sounds that fall prostrate
the function of our wallowing
the cognitive cascade of chemical biology
systemic in its ways
like frozen fractals falling soon to melt and dissipate
to sate the seeds we sow and grow
the garden of our fate

Pilfered Wit

how i reach in wretched vain
from pits of inadequate compensation
vanishing fast from false perspective

where infinity reigns as hope eternal
iridescent blooms aligning neatly
drape skyward walls internalized

pin pricks draw forth vacant breath
from home, to house, to emptiness
our illusory existence shall set adrift

so hear these words but soon forget
these harbingers of pilfered wit
as paltry as our impermanence

Synthetic Eyes of Ghostliness

moments pass
without discretion
woolen tangerine yet blares
as though it were alone
as i
when every tear
touched paper

those rising redwoods stand
stark in contrast
bark to flesh

an old friend’s triumph
over fallen redwood
ever forefront
his eyes still speak
to me
this day

subtle dreams
were left between
to foster love
less nuanced
even i cannot recall
in light
of geometric wrest

into false creation
stories cast upon
life once ventured
the vague demise
by synthetic eyes
of ghostly senses

Folding Inward Blackened Wreath

Desiccation upon glass heart

Hastily sprawling splinters

Streaking sullen surface

Spoils unearthed to whet the weary

Wilting as waters wage war

Washing the rue of the ravaged

Succumbing, this savage breast recoils

Deep into the soil of surrender

Layered, tenderly to mend

Slitting sights on set horizons

Errands nestle in nocturne’s numbing

Known fool to lair retreats

Viewed through shades of discontent

Comes unrelenting lack of reticence

Ambivalence wracks the senses

Folding inward blackened wreath

Reaching long to breach the onset

Blade unsheathed to greet its hour

Heaven’s heights elude embedding

Subdued by sights shed

Red with bloodlet blighting

Brought to light, beset to dimmer

Sink or swim on wavering whims

Begin anew the steadied sting

Barren as the blinded eye

of mind that would foresee such stars

Marred by ceremonious compliance

Under the Ruby Speckled Tree

under the ruby
speckled tree
hours passed
as our past
spilled out before us

random shapes
saw growth

as strange
as what we have become

soaked in sun-drawn salted dew

so few
I had come to know

softened smiles
would crumble walls
as tall as mountains

in forgotten flesh
that forged anew

toward the crimson dawn
in sacred solitude

we held forever

ever knowing
nothing more
than love’s gentle cradling

kissed by a fallen gem
now stained
the hues of human

every loss we suffered
shone through
this crooked canvas
as covert cries

wisdom watching
as we wept
vivid breaths
that stilled the air

in wintry wafts
of stolen strength

this lengthy load
now turns languid