Poetry
Poetry is for the perverse
With purrs and purpose
they play coyly
Candid cats on catnip.
We churn beauty
And milk meaning.
Sip it quickly before it sours.
Dim Numbness
In the darkness, we fruit fears.
Mushroomed madness and lichened lovers
Entangled in eons of egos
The dampness of desire
Spawns spores of sorrow
For longing will never feel the light.
To Give
Like stellar streaks in the sky
When you, when we, when all
Look up.
Seeking something bright
A blinding pause of the heart
When goodness is more than a glance.
And grace is all we can give.
Torn
We are moldy mustn’ts,
Meandering between deserts of desires.
Shadows excite
Muscles barely dry
Reminding we can spread
But morning light leaks
(in) and we must not. Cannot.
We and the Sky
The sky is what we are not.
An illusion that fails to protect from the pollution of passion
We writhe with the weight of whys.
Protecting our nothingness, till we are deep blue.
Slipping under the skin
The skein of soul
Unravels
Understand the way you wonder
For it will be.
Becoming more than ourselves.
