across the agora

it’s night;
the city is lined with cocoons
and the darkness leaks all
over my wooden shoes;
the frost’s frigid claws
grasp my bony serpent;
a town morbidly mundane
hosts my tortured steps;
on this labor herculean
my feet mustn’t falter;
for somewhere out there
stuck in a crumbling crayon,
a seeress spins away
hard at my lifestrings;
making matches in the
muck mire;
fate has cursed me cold
with russian dolls;
you were my very first,
beautiful and bright;
your primordial ghost
i plan to murder tonight.

juxtaposition

i can see the whole city from here
if only my mind were quite so clear
all i know is this porch isn’t mine.
i shouldn’t have had that wine
on such medication my mind slips
a volcano erupted with her lips

in my reflection i wonder whether
weaving our breathing bodies together
could be provided any positive spin,
or if your heart must go under again
no, i am not even going to mask it
for her bed was a cursed casket

do remember the fateful warning
i gave on our very first morning
this is precisely what i meant:
my love is inherently transient
i have a mental monstrosity
and it’s irrepressible insanity

concerning women

i don’t trust women
their wiles oh their ways
continuously mislead
me from my mead

for at the very least
after inhibiting ambitions
and forcing dreams stale
leave me some ale

charity

a tattered red shirt stains the floorboards
woven ink pools
‘round my ankles

my bones lie heaving on mattress stacks
somewhat mangled
debauchery bent

a shelf of weary arteries and broken backs
leans awkwardly
stones supporting

the innermost article i place in question
quest of suffrage
i yearned for dearly

doubtless,
i tore it out!
i had no need for it at all…

to is

an unstable soul, can be found to greet
sitting stranded, straddling side city streets
mind torn in two, attempting to treat
mending mentalities: quite the feat.

on sewage-stained floor beneath the grind
his eyes on you with one thing in mind
you undressed, budding window behind
without a doubt: he wanted what’s mine.

‘twas there i found my mainstay:
wanton wanting whittling away.

alfalfa

your orthodox cheer chants
were more than enough to crush
my heretical tap-dance
dot dash dot dot dash
indubitably

romani child

with pavement my feet beneath
the story of my life i bequeath
though the earth split asunder
i the skin of gaia wander
an entirely eternal season
for this young gypsy son
few souls hold my glance
deep eyes find me entranced
ne’er for long i linger
nor do i long to bring her
for each our ways must go
with few fond memories in tow
transient hearts crossing the plain
may we meet elsewhere once again.