By six years of age,
one ought to know some basic lessons,
like, “Not a peep ‘til the teacher calls
on your raised hand.”
I knew this lesson.
Berez did not.Read More »
Tag: poetry
S.S. Sinking (Utilizing Lady Gaga’s “Paparazzi”)
Is music sex?
And is sex love?
See, I am charged; I am impassioned.
I’ve an energy, this channel.
Still, I have an age to me
you may not live to know-
I may be set ablaze, but I’m old,
at least inside my soul.
I’ve a sadness,
an emptiness,
but it isn’t that my eyes are vacant.
No, emptiness isn’t a hole; it’s a mass.
It has heaviness, and it has weight;
It has substance.
And fingernails!
It clings to the walls of my heart, just like staplesRead More »
Twilight
branches bare but for withered leaves
almost like a skeleton
black against the periwinkle sky
reach for wings gone
branches bare but for withered leaves
almost like a lotus cluster
black against the periwinkle sky
reach for wings to come
(feat. in The Open Culture Collective)
we want girls
we want girls with
big hips
suspended over
thin thighs
balanced on some
muscled calves
latching onto
dainty feetRead More »
On Hope Pt. 3
Perhaps it matters a bit to you
whether Mama or Dada came first,
but your first words aren’t on your list
of your greatest accomplishments.Read More »
On Hope Pt. 2
Unconsciousness lifts, ceasing being
your world. Instead, your sky-
a rooftop, as
you perceive it these days.Read More »
On Hope Pt. 1
Certainly, no words remain to describe-
A strip of paint could serve just as well for the first line-
I’ll leave a space for anyone else to tell of the ever present-
Darkness.
But let them use the best cliches,
for this is the darkest night
of the year.Read More »
Nativity (Image poetry; See attached word document for formatting purposes.)
Decision
The curtain you’ve drawn o’er the windows to your soul,
but I still see you go
back and forth, back and forth.
Do I sit down at the right hand of your dreams?
How long will you stay in a stage immobilized?
One kiss Read More »
Projection
The sliding glass doors reflect the light
‘til the room
is a doubly aglow,
and I can see you as well
as the squirrels heard hunting for morsels
on our balcony see us.
You sit close enough for me
to smell your butterscotch skin,
but your words are music to my ears-
not pleasant, but foreign.Read More »
Alphabet Ravine 