Photo Challenge #302

Machine Innocence
– Shichigoro Shingo

A sign of friendship,
a dose of humanity.
Machine innocence.

Sorry for the brevity stressful day!


Wordle #294


A grinning shell of a man,
a slack-jointed vagabond
extends his hands
in mimicry of cheer.
I was happy once,
still am mostly
that’s the thing about
these overcast days
they give way in time.

A fugue of a woman,
a line of bent stars on her wrist
looks down the length of a leather strap.
Venting is one thing but hatred is another.
I’ve seen more faces than I can count,
same man different seasons.
Lies create their own realities.

A sun-weathered man,
a proud, strait-backed farmer
grips the handle of his shovel.
You have to trim away the excess
otherwise there’s no room for growth.
That’s the paradox of modernity
we have everything we could ever need
and we still live beyond our means.

A single woman,
a book-bargaining teacher
draws her name on the blackboard.
Talent isn’t god-given its achieved.
You can’t undo mistakes with nostalgia.
The mind is full of fractures and snares,
live forcefully as the heart decrees.

Wordle #127


Spirits in miniature,

Peery-eyed and robust

These are the unknowns,

That which lives

But does not merit.

These are the gods of

Machination and manufacture,

Seamless specters

Cradling human flesh.

Sentience implies secrets.

We are haunted,

Apples in a quantum riot.

A fetid core harvested

By ingenuity,

A barely palatable whisper

Thrust into a flaccid rind.

The rule of threes

Governs our misfortunes.

Stories convene,

A rash of clues erupt

From the creases

Of an intrinsic exile.

We are golems

In a system

That recycles

And degrades us


A collective human musk

Claws its way to the surface,

Broken toys, skin-chasers.

The real revolutionaries

Bide in the fringe.

Our antagonism only

Minimizes our stature

Humanity is a condition of guilt,

A disavowal of instinct

We are enslaved to conjunctions,

To monosyllabic judgments

That mimic and gripe.


This is mostly nonsense I am well aware because I decided to write my thoughts when in a mental stupor. Anyhow I was thinking about bacteria and mushi (primitive ubiquitous creatures with supernatural powers that we can’t see). I was thinking what if humans are just tools? What if our thoughts are actually the cumulative thoughts of all those little nothings that exist inside of us? Without bacteria nothing would exist, so I thought what if they are gods, what if they are significant and we are by comparison a no-thing? No drugs were involved in the production of this poem lol I am exhausted and felt like going with the madness.

Wordle #166


A penny prays in the gutter

But not even the tarot will answer

Without an exchange of commodities

Or salacious fluids and a penny is nothing

If not followed by a more persuasive sum.

The copper of your overturned kiss

Dances through my blood, a plague,

A gyration in the dreadful stillness

Of my once gun-wielding heart.

I could love you, levitating, lubricating

A single touch to ease an intrinsic slaughter.

Seduction through the application

Of feverish hands lacks finesse but in a pinch

Anyone will do and I’ve a creature inside of me

That demands the darkness inside of you.

Wordle 200


Hopelessness keeps

One delicate and chained.

Suffer me in sympathy

I can endure the knife

But the noose leaves me

Turbulent and estranged.

However, tiny the pathogen

Dissemination is inevitable.

I lift the cherries from your tongue

The knots are unassailable

The clandestine pit

The fleshy medulla

Juices that rupture

Into my absences

A one man everything.

The uncut river rips

My heart from its perch

A canary thrust beak first

And wasting into the mines.

My fingers flex against the currents

Scalpels searing invisible flesh.

I hook transmutables

In the arch of my palms

Pushing and tumbling

Along a course that overtakes itself.

I fold over myself like petals

Burying a beloved stamen.

A time capsule untempered.

My lungs wrestle the tide

Like an umbrella hassled in tempest

There’s no escaping my post

My awkward humanity

You take me in, one gulp at a time.

I did 201 but I think I want to work on it some more (I should probably give these poems names). Is my blog behaving normally? Posts showing up everyday on Reader? Has WordPress been experiencing any problems? On another note I am working on my 2nd book and I am quite excited about it XD




zipperIf I were a planet

I’d have a hollow core

Crepuscular in odyssey

I’d drift aimlessly

Ricocheting against

Invisible labyrinths

No matter how

Fastidious the design

Fate always bends

Toward entropy


If I were a landscape

I’d have a muddied surface

From hoards of unshod feet

Trampling my potential

Into self-serving affectations

Impatience and convenience

Always trump conservation


If I were a house

I’d be uninhabited

Save for death

Which preys

Even as it sows

Transience being


In its undertaking


If I were a man

Praise would not terminate

My sense of omission

I’d hunt egregiously

From stolen parcels

And assign contrast

I am good


Other is bad




Imbeds itself

In the  gum line

In the arch

Of a righteously

Defined palate

In the pockets

Of covetous cheeks

In the curve

Of a discriminating


In the crevices

That alienate

Vicious canines

From their pacifistic



To speak

Of human folly

Is to speak

Of disregard

It is not

Intention alone

That shapes

A society


Do you live

Your ideals

Or do you slumber

Inside of a more





Art by: Bruno Wagner

Copper coins dance

Inside her irises,

A gyroscope

Spinning infidelities,

Pieces of self soaked

In rice wine vinegar,

Pieces of self bloated

And hemorrhaging

Stacked haphazardly

Into the pixels

Of an electroluminescent

Alter ego


She is a myth

That no one seeks

To translate

A forgery

That when disclosed

Would unmask

The world


A cavernous heart

Seeking regard

Reveals only

That which appalls


Has a longer shelf life

Than virtue

She is a mirror

Of humanities

Unclaimed beliefs


Youth fears inversion

The wisdom that quiets


The burden

Of moral acquisition

And poetic cohabitation

She is a heroine

Immodestly dressed

A villain

Recycled in tabloids


She fears the concavity

Of those sinuous curves

Which sulk

And in lamentation


The seething inertia

Of a smug defeat

She fears sleep

For the public


So quickly

The muse

Under which

They dream


She is the summit

A delusion of grandeur


By a vociferous audience

The media is cannibalistic

She’ll be consumed

By her fame

By the loneliness bred

In its shadows

She is not herself


A covetous Ego

Alters the gravity

Of her soul

She is

Earth and sky