In the Company of Words

At times,
the savvy and elaborate architecture
of words,
the stunning and complex
tapestry of language,
its magisterial tunings
to sound,
is, in its beggared haunt
and infancy,
rooted in the unscabbed
core
of a pinking utterance,
a single quiver
airing innocence
to burn–
Ow.
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In Absentia

We are mostly
made from absence,
a light-stitched band
of particles,
aspiring, in concert,
to harmonize daring
feats of love,
or how we dream, in fits,
aligning our nodes
to perish.
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Love’s Greatest Fools

Slowly, slowly,
pour me out
of the wounds,
the chafing legend,
that we,
intransitive
in our grief,
shared at a common altar
and dais,
remember how we,
marvelous in our reaching,
hallowed the moon
as a redundant savior,
a charnel chamber for loaded romantics,
and came to loss
by the tenderest means
allotted fools.
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I Listen

“I Listen,” one of the poems from my forthcoming collection, Arclight (February release), now live on Riot Material.
To read click here.

 

 

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Desire by Any Other Claim

We were walking scarside,
had been for a long time.
The wind sounded like fading bells,
the air smelled of singed salt.
I asked her how her heart was holding up.
Good, she smiled, it’s floating jellyfishlike
in a pool of warm liquid.
That’s where I drown my ______________.
The way she spoke blanks, like concrete flatlines,
stopped me. And drew me closer to her void.
I always fell for and into women’s voids,
headfirst, heartfirst, groinfirst,
it was hard to tell the order.
But absence was a death’s-head elixir, a potion
made from pines, bones, and frozen bees.
I told her–Did you know
that the closer you get to a black hole
the slower time runs?
Is ……………… that ……………….. true ……………
she slo-moed her speech and movements, a dying reel
equal parts eerie and comical.
When she resumed regular speed, she kissed me
hard and quick, a hummingbird on high.
It was at the far edge of scarside
that she asked me–How is your heart doing?
I considered this, then responded,
My heart is _______________.
That’s where it’s most comfortable.
She smiled, I think savoring the jittery draft
of blankness, its throbbing drift,
then she stepped away
as I leaned into her void,
wanting.

 

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Ephemerally Yours

There is nothing
more heartbreakingly
human
than sharing your loneliness
with another,
a tender enclosure
bonding the furtive nuptials
of intimacy
for as long
as ephemera graciously
grants.
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Bubble, Yum

There is a dying art
to teething
on the candied skin
of a bubble
for as long as you can
before its inevtiable burst
becomes the shyest glimmer
grieving your lips.
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Unbearably Light

White-hot throbbing, to
bask in the sidereal–
Unzip your skin, please.
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Quantum Lore, or How Stars Love

How lyrically beautiful,
and tragic,
the ballad of binary stars,
engaging the rogue symmetry
and slow-burn turns of a lonely ballet,
two stars,
gravity-bound to one another,
sharing a common orbit,
an elliptical intimacy,
yet never touching,
a via negativa
of grace at play,
a magnetic flirting
of blown charged kisses,
and radiant spread
of bluehot wavelengths
that leave ghostprints
on their asking voids,
and in those rare exceptional
cases where the binaries do merge
and conjoin,
Eros explodingly ensues
in pooling corteges of light
and gospel,
testifying to the magnifience
of stars in love,
in the whitehot throes of cosmic lust,
colliding
once
and forever.

binaries

 

 

 

 

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How Scars Sing

My dream,
or need,
has always been
to gauge
and organize my mania
into something
resembling music,
or at least rhythmical sutures
detailing the heart’s lighted country
of scars
while proving,
beyond shadows,
its valiant worth.
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