Wordle #176


Time serves us all a sentence.

The brevity of our lives,

Our communities mere decades.

Our concerns are but vague collaborations.

Our hearts unraveling without care

For a chat or a nod or a spare set of keys.

The compromises which in hindsight

Compromise our state of being

And our souls most of all.

He who does not listen cannot

Feasibly know and he who lacks

Contact or initiative cannot

Feasibly do anything to resolve

The discrepancies of ego.

Does a single answer exist

That could ever satisfy

The collective of man?

There are not enough Gods

To answer all our whims

And even if there were

We lack the means

To perceive them.


Fault Finding

Black and White Poppy

From the bowels, a profusion

Of butterflies stirs

Their blundering flight

Announces your intrusion

And the feast that was within me

Will not serve as a barrier.

I have only to wait you out

Soon enough you will leave

But not before I die unconditionally.


A wake of vultures

Holds service in my heart,

The frenzied assimilation

Of your unwelcome presence

And a penitence that I must now attend.

I am tired of hating myself,

Of your eyes scouring

Of the rotten breath

Of the hysterical laughter

That forfeits humor

And I am tired of the advice

Of the meticulously applied faults

Which were never mine to assume.


A mirage, a clinical, self-soothing, oasis

The glass here has not been fashioned.

Each grain, a leech, an undulant minion

Endeavoring to empty me of all substance

Baring so many constituents I cannot but mirror

It is not me that you hate, it is your own failings

Which I reflect faithfully

Even though I have no words to define you

Only a dictionary rife with excuses.


Pink Tinged Rose

If it was up to me

I still would not choose

Your version of individuality,

Society has nothing to do

With humane interaction.

Society is comprised

Of unsustainable priorities

That leave the barer empty.

Empty people need only apostrophes.

Glitter is favored to marrow

And when the lights have gone out

A thigh can serve as a torch

No matter how dead the eyes.


There is no space for a heart

When the ego is a colossus.

Perfection cannot be defined

By human standards

It is the greatest deceit

To convince an audience

That they are neither accurate

Nor original and that they

Must change if they are ever

To be realized.


To remain day after day

Broken just so, scalpels tearing

Scarlet rainbows from a heart

That castrates itself

Far more than a tenet ever could

In a room without witness

In a ritual of self hate.

What a grotesque buffet

What a cruel prayer to insist

Manufacturer’s error

When the intended use

Is so wholly disregarded.


What if I am the purpose?

What if I must exist

Poor symmetry and all

What if pain comes

From aversion to itself?

What if right and wrong

Are sometimes reversed

In moments of intense fear

When the world is viewed

From the palm

Of an obfuscating recoil?


I know who I am

Without being told

Without definition

I still exist

Everywhere I look

A mirror illumines.

The road is my map

The tongue my serpent

The hands can either be

Dungeon or platform

Depending on

Their orientation

And intent.



Would I rather be free?

Or would I rather be you?

A uninhabitable paradigm

An ideal buried

Within linen and flesh

A coffin snuffing out

The very source of life?

I’ll take my chances

Without a script.

S Slashed

Scarecrow Face

Richard Keeling

We of the swollen carapace

Shall know pain mightily

Shall learn when to hold

And when to surrender

But until then we carve

Our ruts especially deep.


The world is a petri dish

And my expectations

Are irrelevant to the duration

Of my species as a whole

I speak for no man who does not

Possess a heart and tongue

Equally capable of noise

Sometimes there is even

Music between us

A kind of invertebrate symphony

Our flesh more easily stitched

Than bone or is it?


No amount of persuasion

Could draw this veil aside

For there is always another

Willing to negate the privilege.

We are alive but only just

Who among us can face

The collective consciousness?

We’ve created a society

That is contradictory

To life and our sorrows

However, scarce their content

Cannot find amelioration

In any known conquest


We contend that as children

We lived but every whisper

Contains its dose of poison

To be is to be had, to become

For the sake of an approximation

That in conflict does not stand


There are no eyes only

Pits of contagion

No smiles only frowns

Of inebriation worn askance

No hands without blood

For mercy does not fill

Leather as hate does

The seismic universal

Of self-worth is S slashed


We never look into the fires

That we have lit unless

We’ve found in some

Fool a culprit or alibi

There is no accounting

For denial, we survive only

In this moment

No matter how precariously

The future rests


I got too excited about the prompt Jen suggested so I went ahead and wrote something. I might have to move that challenge up in my schedule lol This is just where my mind took me on reading it.



Chiara Fersini

Where do you keep it?

Why won’t you show it to me?

When I gave it to you

I imagined that you’d wear it always

As precious and delicate as blown glass

I thought you’d guard it

Display it, caress it as air

A spiritual nimbus infusing

Your unkempt chakras

In moments of despair


I thought if you held it inside

That love would kindle

A waxy lupine moon

As infantile as a tealight

To nudge you home

You who have never known

Anything akin to family


A lozenge to obscure

Your grotesque suffering,

To exorcize momentarily

The apparition corroding

So utterly your throat

I should have written you a script

Knowing that you did not posses

An answer capable of averting my wrath


Hate travels the same narrow veins

As love and so often mixed

Perhaps they are not antonyms at all

But prerequisites of a vast

Psychogenic ecosystem

You who are the quickening

The accelerant that burns

My puritanical bones black

You who birth me unrecognizable

And disturbingly human


You immerse me

In the iridescent plumage

Of nodding flightless birds

A star perching stupidly

In its brittle unsavory womb

A tiny sparkling sarcophagi

Destined for a life of subterfuge


You bury me as contraband

As if I were filthy and illegitimate

You do not speak of us

In the company of others

You do not even seek such company

As would necessitate speech

But in the dark you turn me over

In your callused hands

As if I were truly precious

I do not understand you at all





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




Vincent Cacciotti


Perhaps I am a sphinx

For my vowels as mice squeak

Vehement in stupor

They wind round and round

The black veins of an oiled clock

Never do they embellish

The requisite rind

The insular consonant

This bludgeoned throat

Wails on conclusion

Having established naught





Karol Bak Malarstwo

Can we claim humanity

Having been sired in deficit?


As always I arrive unsatisfactorily

Below the meniscus

Of your overturned smile


Why is it that our moods

Occupy the same rotation?

Two parts misery, one part disease

You are ugliest when you sleep

When the succubus slits

The cicatrix of your self-effacing armor


There is a reason

That creation and annihilation

Are synonymous terms

A reason that you occupy

Every exposed aperture

And I every chambered nuance

A reason too cohesive

For our primitive tongues

To articulate


This has nothing to do with the above poem but I was out all day watching a performance by the fire department with Isadora. As an adult and a short one besides I got to stand rigidly strait staring at the back of people’s heads frozen to the bone. My body just hurts from being trapped in the upright mummy position for hours (maybe not hours exactly :-P). After the show she got to look inside fire trucks, police cars, and ambulances and what not. I was standing near the speaker too but she’s happy lol