Category Archives: #antics

EMBERS & STONE

EVERY night of every day i take my love to bed
yea; Leave my heart upon the
dinner plate for the cold
, oh ;
at night its must worse
oh how these lonely tears
fall away screaming
all within silence
So I ask God, “what do i do?”
and listen to the song of
a bird dying each note
all within the long-time
backyard inside my head___
so i’m coming Home now: no need to leave
my heart upon the alter of pain & sorrow.

:: 07.19.2020 ::


JOURNAL: 07172020

TOO! i am too tired for Love___i drained
my member silently this day: of no love,
fanfare nor beauty i did this to die again/
the sun was rolling upon my house’s roof
and all the neighborhood dogs howled
in joy at the large yellow bouncing ball
of fire and death\and me –alone.

:: 07.17.2020 ::


KEEP ME AWAKE AND ALIVE

SO…
WORDS are dying everyday
(within my mind) LOVE i gave
too much (sometimes)
the weather is us ||
and science an empty heart ||
LOVE, we shared our lives
for a time: i command your
face is the way it was in
grand facade and without notice
i am always complete with
knowing i saw the Light & Heat
within your eyes / so WORDS:
to express so much wasted
pain & these moments keep slipping
away

:: 07.16.2020 ::


I ASKED THE VAST UNKNOWN

i asked the vast unknown if it knew
me___a taste of dirt i spat; an unraveling became
of me as though falling into and through a rabbit’s hole.
but One outside of space &
time — where nothing Human
is said, worn or told: again unraveling into a deeper sense
of nonsense whom once i was be-
came nothing More.

Is what this is more:

More, so much more!

:: 05.13.2020 ::


SANS VERBOSITY

i complied with Life
but i did not receive
reciprocity:
loquacity — not of me
go ask the baker if his
dough is dry he will kindly
say, “Ask any Poet, to perish
is sans verbosity!

:: 03.25.2020 ::


MOMENTO MORI

THE entrance was kept
in well lit corners
the rug a long dead beard
once hung upon a living face
and walls adorned in history
like the smell of something
that took its last breath
by dimmed years ago
And the boxes!  Of spoons,
knives, and busy-doing life
and one of photographs;
the stolen moments of time
caught unprepared!
Faded, raped, and torn
of once living souls from
the 1900s — i could not hope
but to find one to make my own;
then caught my eye it did!
clearly written in white margin
“May 4, 1886”  A Victorian
death photo — of me!

:: 03-07-2015 ::