You waited in line
Cause your we're
Next
That's an idea
l situation I am told
What shiney ain't
For me me
Cause I am dull
And spent
Excuse me Sir
Is that gold
I reckon I 'll
Just mossey
Along quote'en
Them words to
That cuss word song
By the way
All that glitter ain't gold
What want from me
Cause he so po'
Get his checks from
His chore
That ain't no money
That's tween me and you
Talking rich and acting poor
Got your Gal out acting like-ah
Whore: talking bout
place we go knee high I q!
Ya'll know the sequence y'all
Meet her in spring
She pregnant in fall
Pappie someone's else's
Niegh I go I ate ooh ooh!
That's how it is
Ain't nothings changed
Oh the ancient
Still arrange
Talking in tongues when
Sunday morning comes
Freaking fellas
By the time the service
Is through
Snitching in like gals
Current and future bride
Tryna make everyone say
Quasi motto neigh IQ
An abstract trick of the eyes,
I thought I saw you again.
A word in my mouth just dies,
frozen by what might have been.
as I analyze
the sociology of birds
in my backyard
I must be getting older
if I find this thrilling
The crows sounded
like they were on steroids
a field too close to me
My life is pixelated
in little squares of color
that look better far away
Please do not love me less
for this
I’m sliding down
chocolate waterfalls
faster than a female
cheetah in heat
hunting
Oh dear, dear Dora, fragmented and bright,
A puzzle of planes in the shifting of light.
Green nails are daggers, sharp points on the page,
A geometric dance during the colorful age.
Your purple eye shadow, a block and smear,
Holds two eyes together, yet one’s never near.
One looks to the future, one stares at the past,
In a Cubist arrangement that’s destined to last.
With lipstick applied in a thick, waxy stroke,
Your mouth is a silence that never quite broke.
A triangle’s curve on a violet-stained lip,
As the lines of your spirit begin a courtship.
Oh, Muse of the angles, of squares and of sighs,
With a kaleidoscope burning in deep gold eyes.
You are broken and rebuilt, a masterpiece grand,
With that emerald flash of a segmented hand.
Some never find wrongdoing
in one of their own
no matter the proof shown
or how many whistles are blown
they circle the wagons close ranks
deny any and all culpability
then compound the issue
by defending duplicity with verbal hostility
but Detective Inspector Quasimodo
could solve a crime before lunch
he'd secure the scene collect clues examine the evidence
and would bust the culprit just on a hunch
Abstract art reveals the broad, mauve doorway,
To the beautiful world of bold, magical colors,
Of mahogany sunset, with orange, striated display;
Or skewed, vivid homes. Of gem weeping lovers!
The pretty wave of multicolored droplets comes,
And elongated, green flowers wait at sandy shore.
Trees of bicolored blooms, rapturize in two suns.
As ladies walk calico cats. Particolors evermore!
Idling between abstract and realism.
I strive to strike a fine balance.
Implicit trust in the process.
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
The ovens sigh, the knives confess,
we season sin with gentleness.
Each soul, when carved, reveals a taste—
the butcher’s art, the baker’s waste.
The world’s our larder, stocked with schemes,
its saints are sweeter than they seem;
the sinners, tough—but well-marbled,
faith rendered down, ambition garbled.
O mercy, what a menu night!
The moon a lid, the stars alight—
each heart a roast of mortal heat,
each dream a spice too rare to eat.
So lift the cleaver, kiss the flame,
for hunger never dies of shame;
and whisper, as the bones release,
It isn’t m-rder—only peace.
:: 02.04.2026 ::
Picnic
Button-ups and tablecloths
lay it down and see it through
Just when you thought it was said and done
He’s going hoody- over you
2012
You feel like abstract art
Like a bed sheet waiting on a summers breeze
Like honey on my teeth
You stick to me, sickly sweet
Like a silent conductor
You write out all my mistakes
I dont have to perform
Hoping this time it takes
You say im stuck, sickly sweet
Like the gum underneath my feet
Like words that dry up beneath my tongue
Like shoes on wet sand
I can't speak or run
And my skin is on fire
I'm losing sound
I'm still shaking on solid ground
But I choose to stay
I never wish to depart
Because to me it feels like abstract art
As I lie hear in the dark things become more and more absurd
I am trying to remember this particular word
I struggle in my memory
and in my reverie
Why can’t I recall (it’s frustrating as hell), why do you perturb?
So in its plenary
I struggle in my memory
What is this word
That before I have heard,
Why do you elude my extra-sensory?
It is much like a long-awaited friend
When I remember the word, and put to an end
This frantic revival
Of a word that does rival
The lapse and synapse in my head
Before The Leaf Falls
A leaf falls.
Suddenly, stringy mush covers my hands.
You’re carving out joy from an orange circle.
Just like you carved out my brain
Before your face walked away.
A leaf falls.
My speech is burnt.
Pies are fresh from the open fire;
Pumpkin pushes through the air.
Your laughter hates my memory.
A leaf falls.
Warm materials enclose around our souls,
Colors play in front of our eyes.
Trying to distract us from the crash
Coming at us from full speed.
A leaf falls.
This time, it covers me.
I see you above, dispersing into large air.
My screams muffled by the deep red ovals.
A leaf falls.
You are gone.
The once loose sweater pinches me,
Reminding me that my eyes are real.
The hollow grave is crowded
And my recollection of it ever being vacant flew away.
A leaf f a l l s . .
Well it doesn’t take someone from Harvard
To get the metaphor of whistling past the graveyard
As Dr. Luke states it and rather obviously
You walk over an unmarked grave obliviously*
The naturalist walks over The Foundation for reason
In an attempt to ridicule that very Foundation
But why as a naturalistic behaviorist
Would you grind when there’s a mill but no grist
You are borrowing the Christian’s capital (yeah I said it)
The ability to reason, but you don't give God the credit
Reason doesn’t grow on trees
Do you need more empirical clarification?
Generalizations can’t be seen with binoculars?
See the truth is something unseen or un-ocular
I don’t say in jest or jocular
Or appeal to Private Monocular
“We can’t give up God because we have laws of grammar”
See! The nut job Nietzsche gets the frustration
MONDRIAN
so precise
&
pre-arranged
this
decisive
detailed
quest
of
the
absolute
outlined
in
black
Determined energy encapsulates what smolders silently inside.
Quiet resilience produce a bold, inspiring presence that space opens wide.
With a colour gamut of profound earthy tone,
Striking fiery reds and chilling white hot lashes stand alone.
Morgan's painting suggests the perception of dancing flames to a beat,
Within the vision, to create a physical feeling of blistering heat.
This symbolizes deepest strength of passion with his brushstrokes.
Dynamic intensity instills the mesmerizing impression of movement it evokes. Demanding attention to the potential of power below the surface.
Gifted craft accompanied by the celebration of beauty is its purpose.
As I gaze at the canvas, undeniable appreciation of this abstract can begin,
With wild untamed spirit ''The Fire Within".
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