Arches Crumbling

In high-school we always learn about a version of history. After all of those classes, there is a reset, where we learn that history isn’t how we were taught. And then decided to switch perspectives… how history was experienced.

Arches Crumbling

the world’s arches, history’s neatness
is used to raise the beautiful fools we

want our children to be
astonished to see the burning

wicker-man of their childhood
their mouths agape with wide

pitiful eyes as distant bells
chime 13 hours in their new,

broken, reality the milk pale,
forgotten seaside lay underneath

the cloaked wings of Death another
stripped chorus of silent glances,

soles pant hastily shuffling &
muttering questions in unison

as they sat on those white sands,
on the edge of Rome exchanging

bets, coins, & words when the city
would fall

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Indexing changes the tone and character of a poem. Instead of this being just a break up. It’s a cover-up.


Unquiet manacles, knot in lady like observances.
I recapitulated the way I cheerfully lied and imagined
that he is a simple, abstract version of person-hood.

I found lied and thought his transmutable arms were real.
I was the truth he doubted, existing in all of my solidness
(which he recognized) realizing that his lies could not
hold me much longer.

In all of my solidity and convictions I am concrete truth,
absorbing lies, doubts and monsters in my wet form.
Blessing them in the immortality of my thoughts as I
soak away their breath and preserve their impressions
under my skin.

No scars to show, I’ll look smooth and flat, handcuffed
to the memory of their sincere, seeming, secrets, annoyed
with my petty reluctance to see their lies. I am brave and
benevolent in my delayed ability to release my analytic
disbelief and idiocy.

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The Stars Await

This is a given title poem about the universe, and maybe our mistakes of trying to live out there. Maybe a little bit inspired by Babylon 5.

The Stars Await

solar system seeds sway
in cosmic breeze,

tumbling like rag-weeds
in a helter-skelter pattern.

Dancing to songs the stars sing-
a wrong note- a solar flare- a scream-

an end.

bright and shimmering orbs
sulk as planets die- turned to ice-

fragile crystal orbs shatter
darkness licks away their translucent skins,

pleading them to let it in,
tempting collapse into black holes

voids-universal vacuums of promises & death

Push Button to Reset

This could be about a few different people. Originally titled “push button reset” it makes more sense to add the preposition I think.

Push Button to Reset

a rim of red,
a dare,
a passive aggressive
method to make
a world in one image

a cherry
a whipped cream sundae
a greedy hand
manners weren’t taught
a lunch money heist gone wrong

a prayer service,
a plea,
a born again economist
magistrate to mayhem
a narcissist with power

a reset button, to push, whenever.

A Thief’s Game

This is a given title poem that is definitely about Trump back in the election stage to when he won in 2016. Sometimes I am inspired by world events.

A Thief’s Game

His smile, genuine,
His veneers, bright,

His hair, implants,
His suite, impeccable.

Will he sing to anthem of
State he plans to rewrite?

Will he receive a Nobel
To break the ice?

Will he break all laws
And apologize?

The world witnesses
His breath of humor.

His followers shocked
When he admits a lie.

Their broken hearts
dismissed in a wave.

He laughs and laughs
and laughs. This was

all a Game.

The Side-Effect of Thunder

This was organically a given title ” Sound of Thunder.” But side-effect became a key phrase and line in the progression that made me alter the title.

The Side-Effect of Thunder

crackling around ears
side-effect: screams,
tears, sobs

the sound of lightning

blaring in eye-sight
side-effect: stumbles,
trips, falls

the sound of rain

clinging against skin
side-effect: slips,
drips, sogginess

the sound of silence

broken in between
moments in a storm
side-effect: togetherness

The Art of Telling Lies

This is a given title poem that I think can be about any relationship. Friend, lover, politician (I have a better one for that posting tomorrow).

The Art of Telling Lies

lie to me, there is an
art to the decay on your
expendable soul

blush behind your hand
twist- wring out
your finger-tips

squeeze the lie from
washcloth knuckles-

snap the bones of your spine
in place, hold the weight
of the lie on your tongue.

candy coated promises sweet
poison on taste buds
rot your breath,
pull the veneers- smile-

pockmarks plague the
perfectly polished
mask you wear