Decay

He had only ever known

The dark side of the moon

Absolute zero his home

A continual state of gloom

He was but a mote 

And she a mighty titan

His heart was smote

But how life did brighten

She stole fire from Zeus

A passion’s mighty flame

She became his muse

And He offered her his name

Some things are meant to be 

And others are not

She and flame went from he

But smothers naught

For though Promethium left

She certainly left her mark

Love’s half life a premium bereft

Radioactivity’s a deadly spark

Lucky for him he’ll be okay

And wrap himself in love’s putrefaction 

Because he’s not afraid of decay

As it’s an exothermic reaction

 

Vinegar

You think you’re beautiful now

But you were beautiful then

You felt insignificant

A single grain of sand on a beach

I leaned in and tried to count your facets

Step out of the shade and into the light

Squinting I counted them one by one

I gave you my strength which you took

You propped yourself up for another

You imagine he’s made you beautiful

You consider yourself grown because of him

You think yourself the perfect partner

You were always beautiful and perfect

Your growth is a smoothing out of your edges

You’ve covered yourself in paint and pillows

Adept at avoiding the eggshells 

He enveloped you, hiding you away

Control is not caring

Love shouldn’t be a labor

When you no longer satisfied his ego

He spit you out and moved on

Take off the pillows, wash off the paint

Bathe in a tub of vinegar

From pearl back to a grain of sand

Take my strength even if for another

Intersect

Inspiration

A flash of lightning 

In a state of entropy 

The mind digs

It cradles the amber

Boring to the center

The rock candy blood

Of a cobwebbed understanding 

Mixed with cerebrospinal fluid

Spun around the mind

With centrifugal force

The DNA mapped

An intersection of similarity 

A ‘what if?’ moment

A graft taken hold

A tree of 40 fruit grows

The lightening is gone

Thunder rattles the windows

Take me to church

To connect I look for the well-worn path

It leads me down the center aisle

The trees stand as proud parishioners

The stumps serve as pews ready to receive me

The earthy smell is my incense

I breathe in the gift and give it back

A homeostatic symbiosis, singularity obtained

The wild animals are my brethren

They look at me with welcome understanding

The backlit canopy is my stained-glass window

The offering plate holds only love and promises of protection

Money doesn’t grow from trees

It’s made from their corpses

The mother suffers tremendously from man’s pursuit of it

The very fact that it’s green is blasphemous!

I come here to feel connected

I try to regain DNA’s memory

From ancestors that walked the path first

To remember what is real

To find my roots

I must dig

Bare hands

Alone

 

Monster Boy


Growl little man

Gnash your teeth

Brandish your claw-hand

Let the power seeth

Know you can be more than you are

Your very being is made up of stars

Pretending gives you a wider horizon

Different hats all waiting for you to try on

Just remember to always return to me

My little man is my favorite you, you can be

So go ahead growl, gnash, brandish and seeth

Because beautiful, powerful and wondrous is what you are to me

Jane Doe

toe-tag-42544_960_720She was my first

Her hand dipped beneath the surface

of my drowning pool, my teenage doldrums

Flat-line flickers fitfully

She was my first

A tour guide always seeming to be running late,

No…here, let me—how’s that?

Incredible inner intoxication

She was my first

I felt I had value, I was worthwhile, I was chosen

It was all new to me, but seemed old hat to her

Reinvented reinvigorated rejoiced

She was my first

At a party, a kitchen while babysitting, in the playground

at the back of the school during a dance

Sex searing secretions

She was my first

Her brother picked her up from the dance

Knowing…his face was sad and furious simultaneously

Telltale trace tip-off

She was my first

Rumors of changing schools to escape reputation

She had left many in her wake…she had made herself a vessel

Onerous omissions obliterate

She was my first

I didn’t know what to make of it and denied it all

She had chosen me and I made myself an offering

Neglectful nonchalant naiveté

She was my first

I forgave the burn to bathe in her warmth

She jettisoned me in the cold ocean for a senior with a Jetta

Eviscerated expelled erased

[In the end, aside from being hurt, I felt bad for her. I imagined myself in her place, her brother’s place…her family’s. I wondered if someone had wounded her, leaving her to see herself as something passed along like currency, or was she the empowered one…having used me before moving on to someone with more to offer? She was my first. She is also the only person whose name I have purposely forgotten. My first is Jane Doe.]

House on the corner


The house on the corner

An empty shell

Devoid of family warmth

No tv glow

No snuggling on the couch

No home-cooked meal aromas carried on the breeze

You haven’t had family in you for years

A for sale sign, a cry of loneliness

Uncut grass, like an unkempt beard

I feel your depression like a burlap cloak

Where are the little children’s feet, padding across your hardwood floors?

The peals of laughter, do they still echo in your empty rooms?

You still feel the vibrations, the resonance, don’t you?

Oh, I see…life breathes in you still…

Groundhogs have made your front porch their home

Pigeons roost in your attic, cooing out their greetings to you

Is this consolation?

Are you happy?

When we grow old, solitary, with wild hair and wilder ideas, mumbling to ourselves…

with only our thoughts, our pigeons in the attic, to keep us company…are we you?

Are you labeled crazy by the other houses for not wanting to be inhabited?

Are we, humans, crazy for the same reasons?

Or…are we both just waiting for someone to turn the key?