“Quite a temper on that one”
In truth, it was hardly the case
Born of fierce faulty strikes,
Infrequent, misplaced

Split between craters
On steel drawn cold
Mettle unmelded
With fragmented mold

He was temper, untempered
Lacking temperate shape
Broad and bashed so threadbare
That resistance would break

The tapping of temperance
Frequent and well-placed
Finding genuine sharpness
While in fire, encased

We’re not made by our sorrows
And their ragged indention
If we tap through tomorrow
We can relax retension

We might never leave flames
But grow strong in their wake
And through temperance and tact
Our edge will not break





Preened so clean by love-me-nots
And nocturnal intentions
Fruitless in all frugal spots
And limp in all dimensions

Stemed from shallow rooted woes
And hoes that cut too deep
You could surely rise above
While lesser flowers sleep

But morning sun relays the fact
Of where you laid your seed
You weren’t a flower all along
Just an execrable weed




It wasn’t the swaying trees
The colored reefs
The myriad birds, bees, seas or anemones

It wasn’t the falling stars
The chirping frogs
The beautiful scales which flail from estuary to bog

It wasn’t the rising sun
The peach stained clouds
The weather around us which wisps, patters and howls

It wasn’t ardent moon
The last afternoon
The moment we knew that it’d all be over soon

It was US
We had a choice to make
Silenced dear Gaia
So she could not participate
We had time to anticipate
Yet we stalled and stood in the way
And at the end of days
The only thing that killed our mother was our refusal to cooperate




The healthiest pill is often most bitter
My attachment the crippling symptom
Sucralose grains in my varcose veins
Kills my heart by not knowing distinction
My reception is lax,
out with my signals
And erstwhile gazes without recognition
When I look to her face, I see none of myself
Quite deserving of reciprocation

Burning her way through,
brain, tear ducts, and tissues
I shatter my smile
Bitter taste lost in crimson
Off track and terminal,
the cure reaches dermal
As virulent chemicals breach from the kernel





The melancholy phlegmatic
Congested with emotion
Slumbering contently
In the castle of their dreams

The visceral humors
Of which we are composed
Are measured and flowing
Into everything we do

What vulgar beauty
Born from biology
Becomes the gilded words
Of angelic songs

Organisms lifted from mud
And from beneath wet rocks
Create the majesty of love
From the call of fornication

No great force gave us bile
Nor blood or mucus
The heaven we have painted
We paint from the mire
-pain, sorrow, and ire-
within ourselves



Guilt is Enough

Guilt is enough
I never sought to be vindictive
A heartbroken trial was never instinctive
No pained incision,
or tangible fission,
All I want is admission
For guilt is enough

No need for prostration
Raising the question of hindsight
All I needed to know was
If at any point,
You felt it wasn’t right

That guilt is enough
Settles my heart and settles the score
Feel it here, once,
and nevermore
I only need to know if that human part is there
That guilt is enough, lets me know if you cared