Abnormalities shift in paranormal wise directions.

Abducted figures of morning glory’s moonflowers
Dismal in malformations, unwatered, cower, chiefly
Grimacing at the prospect of the doctored maleficence.

Granular textures pondered by the reticent
Cranium, as to what had been understood, entwined
From paraphernalia belonging to malcontented
Fissures that withstood morose restrictions, curdling
By way of the maladroit; their prehensile digits
Chromatically descending into why’s.


She Would Say it Better

I can reason
That it was never about me;
That she was me, her, and him, and them;
She was
The thoughts that would slither and writhe
Deep inside the dark infinite expanse
Demonically apparating, flitting, in and out
Leaving particle trails of excrements
Laying waste in synaptic data encasement;

But I wanted it to be.

That was in some other life,
Some other utopian dream,
I created in efforts to keep,
This fantasy fiction that fate
Unfolded in front of me.

She would say it better
She was better with words

If she really wanted to make a connection
She could have reached out and grabbed
The trembling hand I had extended.

But she didn’t.

The idea
Of her cold lifeless body
Causes grief.