You know the lengths that we’ve taken just to disappear
Like static left swimming behind all our halogen words
We iterate and then nod along as if it’s clear
With letters in quotes and italics left running in herds

And we dream of the depths that we were never shown
Where cold fingers itch in the blackness of waters removed
Left scattering crumbs to feed birds that were not our own
With heads angled down for the prayer that we just never proved

You know how much we would tilt just to comprehend
Like notes on the window from questions we don’t plan to ask
Half-peeling away like the faces that we oft pretend
Are there like a shadow, but know that they won’t bear the task

But we drink in the edges of a paper lie
Like discoloration on parchment from where we erased
Wearing stains on our thumbs, letting moments die
And layering light to pretend we can change what we’ve faced

You know the means that we’ve taken to create the end
Where words, like a liquid, are rivulets on paling skin
Through the blur, do we squint to perceive a friend
As we listen with string over miles connected to tin

If you find yourself going, “Lines one and three feel a bit wibbly-wobbly. Like…they’re not a nice clickity-clackity metronome count.”  You are correct. The odd lines are rhythmically distended and are meant to have a more prosaic delivery while each even line is iambic pentameter. And there…see? Now you know.



Reaching out for something simple
Fingers made of wax upon an orb that’s oil slick
So half-wishing for hooks or barbs
Or thorns and thistles, nails and shards
And willing then to trade a bit of blood for half a grip

Holding on to something weightless
Straining to be gentle where the callouses are thick
And wondering how much is real
When hands have lost the right to feel
And choosing to believe that if we’re strong, we’ll never slip

Letting go of something heavy
Hoping that it’s more of a solution than a trick
But half-wishing to find away
To let it go, but make it stay
And saying it’s more beautiful because we let it chip

Clinging on to something fragile
Hands are made of razor blades and arms are made of bricks
And so we quaintly crush to death
The things we love with bated breath
And paint the world in dark romance with these, our bloody lips


Beware the self-important
For they swear they’ve naught to hide
But they’ve a smile made of chalk
And wear a mask they made of wilted pride

Beware the self-important
For they point out other’s flaws
But always see themselves as right
And always worthy of the world’s applause

Beware the self-important
For they have so much to teach
But then for every word they walk
There’s seven more they merely try to preach

Beware the self-important
For they know just what they do
But never seem to understand
How anyone could ever say, “I’m sorry, but you think too much of you…”


The addiction to addiction
The affliction of restriction
Manifested as a need
And then asserted as a creed
And then reiterated with so much conviction

The condition to condition
The remission by admission
Then directed as a vie
And controverted to belie
The fallacy of underlying supposition

The devotion to devotion
The demotion of emotion
Elevated to a fault
And escalated to a halt
And then depicted as a misdirected notion

The concession to concession
The progression of regression
Incremented to a stand
That it was never even planned
By subsequently disavowing each profession

The objection to objection
The rejection of affection
Then positioned to appear
As if I wasn’t seeing clear
By disavowing any credence of connection


My skin is made of iron
And my doubt a giant shield
My vision seems
A klaxon’s scream
For all I see is danger that has yet to be revealed

My fingertips are granite
And my palms are filled with sand
My world, a hunt
For deadly want
And life is but an answer to the question, “How much pain can you withstand?”

My tears are made of questions
And your answers, made of lies
My hope a ruse
And you, a fuse
And we a road that leads to where my optimism dies

Your face is made of secrets
And your lips are filled with need
Your light, a torch
That seems to scorch
That still I use to cauterize the wounds that by your hand were left to bleed


The vanishing focus of these empty places deceives
And indeed, there are secrets I know and that have never been told
Like phantoms or locusts that eat on the unwanted leaves
The field of redemption that smolder
The weight like a stone on my shoulder
When harvesting flies from a field that was promising gold

And carrying on without caring what could be revealed
For losses are set like a sole, leaving prints of lament
That all but admonish the echoing fate that I sealed
With chains that have tarnished in blessing
And veins that have hardened in guessing
At values to come while forgetting the coins that I spent

The banishing moment of these written letters decry
That cadence of violins screaming for silence to bring
Some nightly component to stiffle the plague made of I
And so, with insects am I sleeping
And clutching the question I’m keeping
Like potions to help me recall that the memories sting

And veering into a dimension I’m loathe to admit
I wish to embrace like a morning that’s bled of its hope
Where crafted in blue are the half-written reasons we get
For why we descend as we travel
And roads that were paved turn to gravel
To know it’s a plummet we’re measuring mostly in rope


Let’s wish away the sun and all the light
The curtains and reflection
Of the words that need correction
For a world where each rejection
Is a sound with the inflection of a dream devoid of flight

And place our fragile hands into the void
Where myths are all converging
Like a hunger, or an urging,
Or a hunter set to purging
All the days we set to merging to a song we’ve now destroyed

Let’s snuff out all the candles bearing flames
Til in their isolation
They forget their own creation
And, beset by devastation,
Do they greet the desolation of an unremembered name

And cast the ache of memories aside
Like ashes when they scatter,
A veneer that’s left in tatters,
Like a mirror that’s set to shatter
When it’s clear it doesn’t matter like a castle made of sand beneath the tide