All my words are spent, these treasures I gathered over the years. I’ve spent them along with gestures, minutes, ink, and ball point pens. I’ve only unintelligible whispers and heavy silences, things of a cryptic Slip-through-the-fingers nature left in this chest that once held Glittering rubies, diamonds, gold coins, crowns ‘n things… But, oddly, I…

this is my angry face, borne of my angry list of the little insignificant things that have gone wrong in my week, day, and deflated soul that used to be a happy full circle but now is just a dented almost-heart, a crushed oval because the eyes i’m wearing right now suck, they outline all…

The spirit, downcast, grieves The pulmonary rhythms, crestfallen, fall The tears, saltwater waterfalls And the only metaphors this hand wants to offer Are ones that fall like gravity pulling

the way I hold sorrow nowadays is released in songs and quietness; it’s edged with exhaustion and undercurrented with peace it’s a peculiar silver-lined cloud i’ve not preferred the loud wails and epic thunder- storms, hurricanes, floods for quite some time now, prefer a more moderate climate to weather these worries and woes don’t let…

It’s strange to taste feel smell see hear Perceive with every fiber and atom that Life, life surely goes on, the earth twirls Drunken tilting on its axis a flirtatious Ballet around the sun barely containing Its stellar fury and magnificence… A grand theater unfolds in the quiet Of this or that thought, tear, punctured…