Chiho Aoshima

My lips drop, a penny for the displacement of hope

Tell me only that which I, in stupefaction seek

Sanity is too fluid to enslave or replicate

There are no grownups only pilfered nests

And feral eggs that feast upon extraneous instinct

When I die I shall embed a stone crown

That my suchness may remain entitled to occupancy

To be infinite is itself a transient state

And yet entire lives are spent sorting labels






I traced the distress

In your brow, trying to stay

Our expectations


Unhappy, we sought

In each other a depth

Not privately seized


Our failures exchanged

Lips but not hearts, spiteful

We cursed each other


Trauma lends to scars

To recurrent behaviors

Which favor bloodshed


Over rusted tears

Which belie a frailty

Atrocious to pride


We were two soldiers

Scarred so deeply we became

The  battle itself

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Cheap Prophet

I apologize but I will be away for the majority of the day once again and because my internet is painfully arthritically slow I am having a hard time making my blog rounds. The Internet issues should resolve beginning of June luckily!



We used to loiter

In the alleys of our minds

Disinterring our secrets

Like grave robbers

Scavenging for wealth


We marveled at our memories

As if each grotesque contour

Held some great revelation

As if we were dark heroes

Whose cabalistic afterimage

Would deter all nefarious intent


Therapy was for people

With weaker constitutions

We kept rusty scalpels

In our back pockets

Like dog-erred copies of

Bukowski’s “Ham on Rye”

Ready to bleed for any cause


Seduced by taphonomy

We concealed bottles in paper bags

Drinking from untasted philosophies

We were rank with inexperience

Intoxicated by our own inhumanity

And hazardously arrogant

The irony that we had become

Our own nemeses wasn’t lost

But youth entitled us to indiscretion

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Poison Haiku

I have a therapy appt. today and a number of errands so forgive me if I am not around. Also iI believe we’ve exceeded my internet because it is super slow




Belladonna strings

Delirium like a noose

Wicked blueberries


A true courtesan

Her beautiful mouth prostrates

On inclination


Discarded in love

I drink that I might sleep and

In sleeping forget

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Kingdom of Dust


the_surreal_arts@Deviant Arts

Very rarely do I exceed the momentum

Of my meticulous morning routine

Noon finds me gluttonous and unwieldy

Night haggard and indistinct

So uncompromising the clock

For she spares not a single second.

Who shall serve my successor

When my kingdom of dust

Has found it reasonable to pass?

Will there even exist a niche to fill?

Or have I been too stingy to imprint?


Wordle #10 and Prompt #57



Honey is the easiest poison to swallow

With each kiss it seeps into the bloodstream

A sticky ligature sheathing acrimony

I was oblivious to the bells forlorn echo

A fairytale riddled with briars and edges

I never acknowledged the pressured delivery

Of every smile unwinged and spiraling

Into untimely deficit I saw only as I wanted

The balcony filled with roses and verse

The dauntless Prince turning figs into gold

A blush of passion or of anger

I never could tell the difference

And now I stand here in pursuit

Of a more permanent ending


Shadorma Photo Prompt #9


What I feared

Never came to pass

The mirror

Did not crack

In reprisal of my gaze

I am forgiven


This piece is quite personal and I am not certain it translates outside of my head space

So here I have written a super simple poem to clarify


When I was young

I felt myself a monster

So I saw myself

Through a monster’s eyes

As a woman

I have found the child

And through forgiveness

Discovered within

A unique and indomitable beauty

3 Short Poems


BJ Smith


How does one live in the reeds

When the water opposite

Evokes such depth?

Had I been less buoyant

You never would have seen

My pain and I in turn

Would never have become

The fixation of yours



Each morning you strap on a series

Of nesting paper-mache masks

And a 10 inch dildo to tighten

The strings lacing my wings

I only really fly when you fuck me

Otherwise I’m spitefully mammalian



I will always remember you

Smuggling poems into

Monochrome notebooks

In the coffee shop on 3rd

My fingertips full of things

I might have written

But never dared too

My heart sewn with neon threads

To spare me the humiliation

Of full-scale invisibility




Adrian Borda

My heart cartwheels across the page

I am always young when I write

Always alive but more importantly free

Without ink the eclipse would be infinite

The death state whence I refuse to intimate

Even a fraction of the emotions raging within

Would entice me irrevocably to silence


My identity resides in a plastic barrel

Slimmer than the antenna that guides

My teeth are brittle as peppermint

I stroke the soles of my shoes

Against the sidewalk while biting my lip

But the trajectory is always reversed


I haven’t got it, that spark that makes a man

Something so much greater than what he is

I cannot persuade even in the ecstasy of truth

Someone must be wrong to preserve the status

The joker shuffled unintentionally into

A caste for which he alone does not fit