Oct. 31, 2017

Originally Written:
March 23rd, 2015

unwarranted, an assertion-
initially, taken aback.
Bluntness on par,
the humor remains forever here within.

                    time warp

struggling through springing ahead--
hymns chime rhythmically,
properly scoring soundtracks of swapped shame.

clock the words per minute;
Somewhere sunken you're finally found-
suddenly striking upon realizing the vibrancy,
of the murky hydrogen oxygen hidden coral reef gems.

--no, wait.
You're an Aquarius.
The cusp, posed queries-
tarot card tea leaves transfiguration
resonated bullshit until something has to give.

Corrected Friday the 13th,
reaffirming confounded confirmation
that the planescape lunar hung ostentatious in confidence.
Full tooth grin, unsettling-
a consecutive fifth day unholy numeric.

Relief in discovering the willingness to suffer through,
sacrificing morale.
Juxtaposed horcrux,
glints of you mirroring the roots of the giving tree.
Galaxylengthed glances,
milliseconds of comprehension.
           translate transcendently

Months? It has only been months?

another eternity,
tiptoeing trepidation tightrope:
Happy trails with those temperatures.

Eighteen degrees of unification;
scarf, mittens, layers, Sinatra, gloves-
freshly steamed almond milk,
espresso expedition--
quadruple digit distance:
a catalyst for our cohesion.


Oct. 31, 2017

Originally Written:
August 24th, 2015

Quantification non numerically-
digits far more comprehensible
when seasons are separated by songs.

Twelve proper nouns; an arbitrary division sign:

There was that April through November:
subzero, discovering how Dante layered the inferno, so divinely.

Proper nouns, it's proper nouns

Seven levels of hell, signified by The First Arrest-
& refusal to the power struggling deputy as she tested the waters of fate,
sadistic pleasure of inflicting Virgina's most striking fear,
for I'd much rather be breaking into
that first apartment
on Nostrand Ave,

Climbing out of a back window-
hopping rooftops,
sunshine climbing fire escapes
to an unlocked window
one building over & four floors up-

Enter the second teir: Sunfire Skyways,
a dead engine, battery--
& 275 had never seen such audacity.
An evening tow, seventy two intervals later,
& a fatal whim decision.

The third layer, Waning Whatevers.
A decision
that May should have had the common courtesy
to talk me out of.

And as we further to four, enter Family Farm Picnics:
Repeat the meaningless details about yourself
every Sunday at sundown
until your white glove accidentally slaps
the family name.

Outlet City five,
or How Shoe Shopping Could Ever Be So Unbearable.

Slumping to the sixes,
we've reached
Sleeping Until The Seven That Is Sunset-
a completely inversed waking schedule
to avoid the dark entity
you decided to move to
precolonial New England with.

& we've reached the fiery furnace,
the fatal finale,
layer seven:
The Exile.
Three luggages,
one feline friend,
& no sensible sense of what might come next.


Oct. 31, 2017

Originally Written: 
May 31st, 2015

Thrice, we've count it,
countless times

& on the third day, she stirred
awoke in a foreign world
open quote Home close quote

I've got the best of no worlds
with a planescape multiverse
to root me in verses of nowhere

forever forsaken.

Trembling against a barren white wall,
cascading sunshine

There was no option, really,
more like oh okay, this is happening

Honorary discharge:
if only luggages had an odometer,
a pensive recollection
of the railways & cobblestone
they've overcome
prior to a wheel broken properly
on Cambridge cobblestone

Let me drink about this:
360 degrees of virtual reality simulation
paper cranes, paper planes;
writer's writing
on a barf bag
a writer's writer...

Turquoise ink with a panoramic view of the city at sunset.

Oct. 27, 2017

How did we-

oh how did we...
it's like nothing ever stopped

but who-

who would expect any other wise way
of proving our existence through

the music of the music

meandering melodies

doors always open
we can’t keep track of
the frivilous shit



you live on my edge
you say it
you found.

melodic melancholy mondays
trancing tuesdays
wasted wednesday

snoozing on sunday…
avoiding the procrastination
that beholds us

no, not you & i-
it’s always been-

tanks and disaster

in the corner,
a mess to be made
looking into the future–

the mirror
and the themes of-
the walls


well, certainly-
a water spout to prove me right
cherry garcia

oh-all that…the. the.
the real money ice cream

my eyes watering, 
abrupt my laughter
your dad said it best:

you never giggled before you met me.

the red
strokes shirts
worn wearily

trancing tuesday

my novel abode
a cave


home in a hazy hazel daze
the comfort of
the green
the brown

and in the sunshine specks of golden glimmer
hazel hazy hectic harmony

it is how
you know to hear me
not to look for me

impossible to find
the night of infinite showers

a cave of dust, dirt, deteriorating what was is was is is is is
a cave of similar kin; however, nothing of the like;

reckless resposibility
in a nutshell-
we hate to love to say it

a venn diagram
a split in the world 
we don’t understand

don’t realize enough 
to understand 

gamma raise

you answer 


only me
that mirror
you can see

hazel in black
black in hazel

that golden shimmer
illuminating under clear skies
reflected in the bioluminescense 

lost in color,

you know not to look for me
you’re the one who learned
to never look for me-
you know you’ll hear me

spark me
the flame of that lighter
no safety

even when my mind struck lightning
wind can blow out your fire

but, i’m following the wind
feeling your fire-
to feel your fire

and you know never to look for me
you can hear me when you need to

the jingles
background music
the punchline

the cliche three beats of that exhausted drum