Sep 17

Unanswerable questions

Lonely wanderer, face sallowesque underneath the bareness of your hood.
From mind to hands to fingers to feet, you are cold,
an icy rottenness unable to recover, even under the influence 
of a scorching flame, pleading in its warmth.
It’s useless, useless, you whisper, eyes half-closed already –
threadbare eyelashes fluttering away slowly, caught within follicles of air.
How many wishes have you wasted? 
How many fairy hours have you passed by? 
Lonely wanderer, I want to ask, for what reason did you never throw off 
your filthy cloak and wrap yourself in red cotton instead;
for what reason did you wait
and spiral into the deep mold
of surrender?

Aug 31


The heroines in Burnett and Montgomery
wear drab, strange clothes, have flaming
hair, soulmates, jewels in their ears,
and sometimes almost die.
A wild Mariposa draws girls like these
to the edge of a sea-cliff
to fall, to cling to roots,
and miraculously, to be saved;
while the neighbor's plump, translucent apples,
glowing green against the stairs,
tempt them to try
and then dream themselves poisoned.

Even when locked in dark parlors,
their earrings flash and gleam, and heavy
hair falls around their tear-stained faces.
They hear an owl hoot, the dark clock tick,
see the moonlight on the white, good curtains.
In the silver light they hear a night-bird
call from the garden, where someone waits,
not yet in love, crouching under the pear-trees. 
Aug 15


Jun 14

with time, etherealness appears

May 14

The phoenix's intent

The phoenix intends to die before the mirror, 
its vanity endless, blackberry eyes sharpened by glowing flame
ruthlessly chasing a forever love
a creature of Narcissus
As it has no lover, no Echo to call it back,
satiated by self-hoarded glory, pampered beauty withers
and turns black

Apr 29

Crème brûlée self

They sit on apple-ruby seats, special emblems on chests
Dessert is served! Molten towers of pale sunshine, glazed with deep caramel
are brought up, set meticulously, with simpering looks
They nod, aloof, then raise silver spoons -- 
violently, the instruments dash past,
blow past carefully warmed sugar, torched delicately to crispness
and sink down, down, down
into the heavy acceptance waiting below, 
ladled cream sliding mournfully past unflinching white walls
Feb 28

Dying Magnificence

Jan 11

The Door

I walk along these Halls and I think about how untarnished these little Birds and Statues and oddities are; they are all each consumed in their own Fantasies, vying for a lovely Lime-Green Berry when there’s a Bloodred one up much higher. I think about the true nature of Man and if Valor was a real trait, if People were not so shallow-minded and instead gave out gentleness like the lapping Waves of the Sea. I think about my own seemingly crushing troubles, and cannot realize that my troubles are large and looming because I made them so. Because I, too, am part of Mankind, and Man is simply prone to such ignorances. 
Jan 03

Night-sky blotch