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Poem

The physicality of you
watching me rattle my keys
in your dream watching you,
in a fever, the feels bubble up 

inside the mourning zombie 
summons an evening ghost

which keys to be 
singled out
to open 
which cavity 

slid into that 
which is locked

magically 
dissolving all 
that for a time 
walls stop

and the miraculous 
touching confronting occurs

the meeting 
of mind and body
honey in the ethereal 
qwerty world 



Candide Diderot. ‘24 







“Romance, who loves to nod and sing,
With drowsy head and folded wing,
Among the green leaves as they shake
Far down within some shadowy lake,
To me a painted paroquet
Hath been—a most familiar bird—
Taught me my alphabet to say—
To lisp my very earliest word
While in the wild wood I did lie…
A child—with a most knowing eye.
Of late, eternal Condor years
So shake the very Heaven on high
With tumult as they thunder by,
I have no time for idle cares
Through gazing on the unquiet sky.
And when an hour with calmer wings
Its down upon my spirit flings—
That little time with lyre and rhyme
To while away—forbidden things!
My heart would feel to be a crime
Unless it trembled with the strings.”





Honey.

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