To Have Met Her

Why, how quickly time did aggress,
With life escaping in each exhalation,
Bedridden, I gaze into her mournful eyes
My bones, my body, once faithful, now aching,
Feel far too foreign, as though
They were not mine own.

Too far didst we irate wayfarers daringly venture,
Far too late, in these revered hissing storybooks,
Were we thoroughly told, facetiously disvalued
By the most cruel and callous gods you so reverently adored.

Had we been found just a wee bit earlier, ‘twould have easily been
Thine fantasy writ in solid fanes of exquisite blues and golds,
But, instead, here, upon these uncertainties do we brood,
Clucking our tongues in our evaluated commitments.

Wouldst time allow me to digress
Within the limited preciousness with thee,
Within these fictitiously disjointed reveries.


Her Departure

For a moment of brevity in perpetuality
Luminescent spores revealed to me
Her countenance, underscored
By her turning away as she placidly
Strode at a pace free of care,
The distance could only have
Been at an arm’s length, spatially,
So I got up, very carefully
To chase after her copy, the space..I
Swear, it–it extended infinitely.

She placates with a whisper, “You don’t care.”
She knows, she sees the same thing
“Why is it that you can’t see
That I have been chasing constantly”,
My voice, indifferently, doesn’t reach her.

She’s left this, our, place, without warning,
We both once named Blushing Bromeliad,
Where poking pointed tulips coexisted on lily pads
When I had gathered countless wasted spores
Just to see her rudimentary form a bit more with clarity,
This forsaken place where illuminated contrails
Flowed freely in anointed negative spaces
That dissipated with every surge of motion.


But it’s as if she’s stopped listening.

Am I Still

She jumps from the edge, as she mistook me for someone else
Calamitously. Said, “I can’t bear to look at you anymore”,
Onerously (Let me take this moment to confess to
No one in particular. This was a serigraphic time when I didn’t know
Enough or anything, when I couldn’t understand the superlatives;
Still; I don’t know; the reasoning; not her inner whys nor the wheres or hows).

“Fuck. NO.”, slipped from my mouth, the instant I shot my arm out.

Dust Reminders

Angry orcish things consciously reprimand
Themselves for forming, unforgivingly, into being,
Angered at their same kind, where love, then,
Was swapped by unplayful, in a word, scorn, as
Nicked oddities distastefully plopped, then were met
With helpfully described perfected unplacated distaste
Focused, unthinkingly, at unchangeable laws, when
Nascent, undistractedly, inertia rolled them over on
The bottled up hate that had existed away inside love.

All The Tugging On Cells

Edited movie scenes,
Filmed when the moon’s glow
Illuminated deformities and insane
Skeletal ghouls flying out from twisted trees,
Magically took place of forgotten chroma keys.

There was a fenced in character,
Rendered immobile by knotted ropes
That spent time
Trying to escape in vain,
When they learnt enough
At the curdling deep end
Of some story about
This kind of reviled love
They never wanted
To know.

Now That Must Hurt

She carefully studies the path that she should take
While her arms shake from the strain of her weight;
Fearfully she pulls herself up
The ledge at the edge of errant waters
Rushing on man made wooden
Cliffs of enormous cladded pillars
Angling upwards to the heavens or
Downwards towards falling rapids.
Her fingers inserted into crevices
To better grip the rocks shaped like bricks.
When a stranger joins her
Pulling hisself alongside her
To instill in himself
His definition of what glory
Was. She maneuvers around
His uncaring hungry hands searching,
Grasping for the better foothold,
While her safety, inadvertently, becomes secondary.
Still, she continued the perverse climb
Gingerly, one step at a time.

She grabs the trinket lodged into the pillars’
Wall placing it carefully in her back pocket,
Resuming her ascension.
The man, whose feet now reach her face,
…Has surfaced the summit empty handed.

She grabs the pastel green iron gate
Like decorum that borders the cusp
Then pulls herself up with a surge,
Then jumps great leaps back onto the boardwalk;
Her loves cheerily calling her name
While the others commentate on his shame.

Displeased, he jumps down without hesitation
To go and retrieve the item of promise
Failing to notice the extra ledge underneath.
As the top most part of his body
Ricocheted off the surface
With such force
That he spun fiercely while he continued falling
When an inclined angled structure caught him under his knee.

If They Had Time Remotes

Hastily, in panic,
They change the
Speed settings on their
Time remotes,
By scanning ID cards
With inflections programmed into
Speech recognition databases.

Plumes from fumigated fields
Move in a kind of uber
Super duper slow motion
While the few others
Regrettably fumbled or stood in the fumes
With their devices, but just
Couldn’t see; afraid.

Yet they, unable
To find the numbers,
The purpose
To destinations,
Searching for the undetermined,
Not knowing
How or where to look, but wanting to,
Hopefully at trajectories of mean insects in
The midst of flight along with wells
Shooting up waters;
Reactions from demolition mines.

Where they, doused and riled up,
Dully couldn’t decide
Which was the best
Path to alter,
Left right in that
Matter filled moment.

Then questioned, expectant,
Your love in the time
They spent in familiarity
Within yesterday’s still remote fields
Without knowing the reasons,
The duration or how real,
Since, it was.


Dimensional lightning bug larvae,
Laid in wait, emitting bioluminescent
Triadic cyanic neon greens,
Surging, lasting in dimension lilies
With tumescent wavelengths of
The deepest burgundy shades.

Seducing oodles of greenish
Prey, attracted, sheepishly falling
For their enamored pillowy callings,
Freakishly knowing the yearnings
Far better than those they ate.

Before some force of nature,
Reflective of human type existence,
Grabbed and tossed
Then stomped and slid
Their feet grating
Their pretty guts across
The pavement’s surface.

Sentient remnants glow,


How they had wished
To relive.

Yauld Day

Finally, in the very year of 2040, a few flourishing millennia ago,
Gremlins thought to let utility mechanisms
Back up gentilic data in noting hardrives
Through Mnemonic devices on a most
Yauld day when they went for Chinese, downtown,
With horns a toot tooting while they mixed
Then daringly drank straight up aquamarine espressos.

They recalled, declarative affronted syntaxes,
Semantically factual,
Carried impersonated episodic
Memories and autobiographically laden defeats.