the paradox of a promise
one cannot hold

known so well

ask not why

anxiously fleeing
leaden clouds
of dusted wake

and coerced ruination

the black horizon

heaven, pray forgive me


but the bleakest silence
can allay these blighted days

tempting the mirrored gate

it reveals

that it is time

[image credit: Pablo Picasso]

In That Darkness

it is only
in that darkness

by the sun’s insistence

when the vilest
of creatures vanish

do we assemble

in legions
of hypnagogic afterthought

to worship our liege
of argent gloaming

like romans
in their own day

we take
to excess

to banish the dross
of existential blowoff

which echoes in these chambers
of mitochondrial horror

with implore aimed
at staying all tomorrows

whilst stranded
in the dregs
of yesterday

A Saltwater Pillow

a saltwater pillow
a seabed of sacrifice
halted souls
beset through no fault of their own

heaving the weight of imminence
awaiting reply
denied of static reflection
from strident pleas
stricken with lost redemption

calling to arms
of open embrace

to turn and face
these fears we hold fervent
through mirrors not of spurned inquisition

to yearn for such tears
sprawling from visions propitious
where no bridge shall burn
come the falling of night

and the weary shall rest
upon plumes not behest of ruinous provenance

with nary a jest to be heard
from the passive prose of pain
transposed into peals of shaming

so those yet remaining
could claim to know freedom
that needn’t bear force
hailing from implores of heedless empire

for virtuous deeds
do not harbor ill will
from beyond barbed partitions
poised to repudiate
the porous skin stretching
so pious to bypass our sins

long since showing pellucid
to bare our every known truth
now effusively blaring
the state of this wretched condition
none dare would call human