Dry fasting
Is discipline
Day 3 to 7
Were diabolical
Cried a decade
Worth of tears
And with that
Sleep reached REM
Vivacious colors
Thankful for those milliseconds
The dead never looked so alive, rosy cheeked
With an exuberant amount of health
-Dad

Dry fasting
Is discipline
Day 3 to 7
Were diabolical
Cried a decade
Worth of tears
And with that
Sleep reached REM
Vivacious colors
Thankful for those milliseconds
The dead never looked so alive, rosy cheeked
With an exuberant amount of health
-Dad

Your less•ness
Was more
Gazing at you
Felt elegant
Over mirrors
While you traced
Curvatures of my faith
Christ, hanging over us
More preciser than light
And yet, you took me
Through a straight line
Inviting flames to our bed
Sparks to invisible
For poetry to withstand

Familiarity
And wants
In this existence
Just, lives here
Digitally tucked
In a forever
In this valiancy
And under
An extremest sun
I squint
Seeking
God’s own words
Instead of my own
How wondrous of me
Desiring to be
No less than
A cover of a poem

i pass by
the oldest
mountain
denying
every stain
of rain
i should have resolved
the tactics of my faith

I am
Unsure
Of what I feel
You taught me
Strength
The
Unimaginable
Kind
Circumstance
Brings me here
A place where I can
Hang my words
And, my unraveling
Thoughts of you . .
Jan 26, 2026

There’s one
There’s two
There’s three
Of me
In this triplicity
I count aphorisms
When it’s difficult
To speak . .
You can’t
Start a fight
In a lonely
Home . .

I once knew
How light was spent
Its trickling effects
As faith pointed
With a golden rod
My own despair
Sat in a womb of fear
Aware it was not science
My conscious inadvertently
Reversed millions of words
Narrowing it down to one
-God

Heavy lines
Mounted over me
These purple nights
Drowning super stars
Forgetting what it is to write
Phosphorus dynamite
Encircles and intertwines
Muting one decade at a time

My youngest flowers
Hem above the heavens
In unparalleled storms
As God landscapes
An elegy for the unborn

This so called, craft
Floats, steady, and upwards
Myself, in a time of mirrors
– August


Stone COLD
Hold ON
You’re still STRONG
NERVE pain loneliness
I haven’t LEARNED anything
EXCEPT for the LINES across your FACE
MORE human, than YESTERDAY
Like random twilights of dust
So distant, only God could see
Yesteryears, my love
And yesterwants
I am adapting
Cowardly, but adapting
This is distinction
Between surviving
And existence

One must be blind
Stripping God of its own light
Things none of us could be
The profound luster in lines
It’s happening to me
A wound, too echo’d to reveal
That love is not found in days

A writer sometimes retains only those poems that find no place. A strange ineffable experience of the mind, its enormous success of self love
Almost fierce
Cannot be
Until Am is Am
My very veins
In its desire to be
Tigers brilliantly move
Bright limbs of mortals
Overpowered and mute
Utmost – love
No more still
Than your tongue’d speech
Fight for insight
God’s copyright
In this interior of light
My signature becomes
A wrath that requires no reason


Forgot
How still
Your mind is
This is not
A compliment
It’s rhetoric,
It chokes
The good parts of me
Hang over my feet
Like lousy flowers
That love just like me

Veils of what I’ve done wrong ..

Covers us in blue
In the instant
Of this instant
Memory invents
Another present
A circular courtyard
With superstitious
Flashes of light
Intended to cover
Every crack in our horizon

The eternities of a second
My whole life to solve
Pitiless searches for a body
To grow old with
Nameless sensations
Such a cruel thing
To miss the dead
With this immeasurable clarity
Like gravid drops of hope
Spinning over itself
Tirelessly, till we learn
How to love, again . .

The furthest of reaches
Sex seal serpentines
These syllogisms
Transform me
Inside is outside
It is everywhere
And nowhere
Invented
Devoured
– Man

We live in identical rooms
We blankly wake, we greet
From one balcony to another
Successively for a hundred years
Between now and tomorrow
We will spend the rest of our days
Growing gardens out of angry stars

Like birds
With a grape to blame . .

Communicate
A little more
Than twice
Like syllables
Gain enormousness
Looking for us
In the middle
Of the night
There’s no such thing
As neatness
When it comes
To our minds
I breath
You flicker
Incalculable
Of course . .
Collide like us
Like they
Like me
And we


You must be logged in to post a comment.