(Heart Strings Sing Staccato)

heart strings sing staccato
as anxiety rides up into me
jockyed by
heat waves and fever shocks.
Ultimately the future cannot be so
pressing as to be riddled with such
inadequacies?


My own silence is
settled      yet      surprising. . . . . . . Have I nothing to say?
My mind's mouth is
sutured by waves of
external emotions as it becomes merely
the observer.


Martyrd by my own mystery
Left to decompose and desintegrate
Time-lapsed
Rot retreats to
Reorient into Reality.
Dreams transmutate to dispel the
horrifying bite of brass tacks.
You are, for me,
elevation and humility.

Waiting // Line

Waiting line wash out weakens willingness to withstand an abbreviated wisdom. Shy particles of sound fall from your lips like snowflakes each perfect and unparalleled. But they fall with such weight and evaporate in our heat instantly, leaving me three seasons hence in significant silence.


Do leaves not fall as such leaving underfoot a symphony of percussive perfection, or the soft swoosh of the seeds that dance and twirl in the air? Oh! That you were able to perennially perform for me the delicacies of acknowledgable adulation instead of the absence administered.

Wrestling to clear myself of sticky cobweb austerity and surface to squirm in my stance so sequestered. Shine solemnity within my swept up memory and release me from propriety. Dance foresight, lead me to leap from ledges, at risk of the fabled fall.