poems

neatly packing thunderin your sockets,two lips in my earsand your tearsbore a hole in my soul tracking the dawnto when stars of my kisses siton the space of your pretty spine;as it gets closer, i come near, a cat hisses, and i turnto find a crime, shackles tackle my eyein the shape of a tear…

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-hm?-i said i do not know.-how cannot you know?-could you ever know a misaligned star?-…-a happy ant?-i could never.-do you expect me to hold myself to the same standard to that of a deity, a god?-i shall never.-alas, i do not know if i could ever become stiffer than the ends to my wit.-i do…

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Atrophy. The constant blaring of the siren withers away at last. I get up. I pick the chair up and move it back to where it was before I got scared of my own reflection in the pen. Is this agony male, or merely human? What does my sink think of me before I twist…

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