Anti-Whimsy (Difficulty)

Beautiful hyperbole, an elastic star
To stretch the sky into daylight.
Watermark the page, steps to stream
Lacking streamlined poetry in
Sincerity and solidarity; shamed in
The bounty of such incredible
Tenderness I could not let go, stay
With me in the white of noon.

Into the overhang
Twixt the next shade of
Green, a few lovers
Sucker nectar from the
Gleaming fruits.
Then there’s overflow,
Sticky in the creases
Of lips trailing to
Under the chin, unto
Torsos drenched in
Shining sun. Bathe
Me in the words they
Sing with temperate
Closure of the eye.
I want to comprehend
The majesty of such
Simple depths.

The Embraced

Interlaced fingers upon my spine
Speak in a language pure as binary.
If ever there were a softer need, it
Would not have been known by my
Hungry flesh.

Needle to my skin, that finger
Is music with its caresses
And I let the words etched in me
Pour out like vinyl sobbing.

In my veins a thousand things
Drift, I know this heart
Yearns for so much more. If you
Lift away from me, I’d

Become dangerous, emptying
The blood. Let the day
Stain me, let the sun wash away
My vibrancy, I’d cease.

The Fallen Morningstar

I can see the lovers calling down from heaven.
Could I make claim that my scars are as
Beautiful as them? Oh all I wanted to know—
Now their voices come echoing through the
Clouds, the rain pours in the bounty of the
Devine stars and I stare with stupor, was I not
The kind, not the right kind of guy?

S & M (Your Confession)

Fear nothing of me, I have
Vicious thoughts but I wouldn’t
Kiss you with anything but my lips.

I know more than your name
And you know my bodily philosophy,
Never remorseful, always thoughtful; will

You come for me when I dare greet
The lost nature of primacy, daring to link
And synchronize with raw urged movement?

Photograph the grass
And her hair brown as
Pure sugar
—we’re gleefully alive.

She feels like home,
Gently spoken, she
Asked me
—how does it feel?

It feels like the sky is
Fire, clouds are just
—Pompeii is far away.

Those people, absolute
Tragedy, and I’m all too
—-we’re the survivors.

Stared at the Sun

Sober wonderment, that’s
Something I could drink to, it
Didn’t last.

Sticky action, I guess that blame
Lies in the residue of someone
I once knew.

Sell the month of November, I’d
Die for the first twenty-four of my

Give me a bike, give me a sunrise,
Give me mountains and pools,
Give me him.

You know me, I’m no mystery,
Pure transparency slates layered
As past on past.

Amber was the Sky

Yearning the plumes of moon-scent;
I love your parfume and midnight skin,
The fingertips of ice and the polished
Nails you say look like shit.

Nostalgia for your sun-kissed hair
And the peroxide fumes of afternoon
Root touch-ups, we will always be a
Pair of platinum diggers.

And we rolled in beds, melted in
A parked car, sipped caffeine in the
Morn, and drove without stopping
Because laughter is royal.

Angel with a sling, scent of
Cologne and they grip the waist
And graze the skin with wet lips.
Here to draw death, here to
Kiss and kill, here to take your
Hands and your world, but it’s
The shortest love you’ll come
To know. You’ll feel the fall
In your body, the quake of fist,
The urgency to break, the
Inability to do it, the mere time
In retrospective dreams not
Worth dwelling upon. Let go.

Underlying dominance, the urgency
Of unwelcomed harshness, sought to
Beat the evil veiled in smooth flesh.

Sewn with the thorny stem, praise the
Fact it bears roses so deeply drenched in
Red, red, red as the dreams unspoken.

Soiled memory; he took to the solidified
Lacking in his own temperance, he
Took to the ghastly whitewashed temple.

The shrine is pierced with metal when it
Should have been earthy. A mourner
Is soaked in black, he shouldn’t have been.

Furnace of the mouth, that
Tongue is fire those kisses are
Clement embers, I remember
Each one, instant sensation.

Independence, Today

Crisp snapping in the air—no,
Pops breaking the closure of an
Open sky: The stars and clouds
Aren’t moved, just tickled by
The fire of our human-mind’s
Manifestations. Crackling
Sulfurous dreams, shoot it up
Like the American man who
Kept the moon in the creases
Of his sole—shoot up ‘cause
My veins are ready to sip on
The same fire, quench my soul.

The Desert(er) Medic

I can feel your lips, a
Consistency of white lies
And mine are chapped with
Trivial questions.

Drop the plea, drop the
Bones of a broken back,
Drop a doped-up dreaming
Of two male hands.


A wound that cannot heal.

Empathy is mine for flux entropy
In the unmoved universe, which
Is the mover equilibrium.