I sit by the window

Watching the world spill

Into greasy prisms

Rainbows within which

Only excess remains.

I could do with

A little distillation

A little clarity.

A root or a hand

To serve as a scale

When judgment

Offers no recourse.


A breath carried

To climax

Can withstand

The miracle it seeds.

To collapse riven

At the finish

Is to be present.

An urge is just an urge

Until the host

Proves irretrievable

And a knife

Is just a tool

Until the flesh

It clutches

Is your own.


If a location dictates

My pilgrimage

It exists in a hollow

Not yet quarantined.

Whomever beseeches

This menagerie

Becomes a beast.

To be beholden

Is to be assigned.

For better or worse

You are everything

When held within

The inflation

Of my scathing black


We are all eyes

When the witness

Is time.

We are all heart

When the witness

Is love.


I might pinch

The clouds

To escape altercation

But the devil

Hath many guises.

The greatest illusion

Ever sponsored

Is the illusion

That any government

Supports freedom.


I hold my breath

Above water never below.

There is a depth

From which

I scarcely emerge.

Calm is not my default.

I am the prodigy

Of a lesser fought


A poetess between

The sheets,

A paper wrapped


A dream unpronounceable

In human speech.


For some reason I was fascinated by this arrangement of trees


Cage By Parablev
Parablev@Deviant Art

I am the only one

Who never departs


Each morning I enter

Precisely as I passed

And each night I fall

Negligent into the same

Faithful vestibule

Like a catatonic monk


If it were another’s madness

I would be more obliging

A sympathizing prophet

Willing to claim or dismiss

(Weather permitting)

But so long as the reflection

Is mine cowardice persists


And so long as a cage exists

There is always a tenet

Brimming with fatal intent

And all the money in

The world could not make

The exterior any greener

Than the interior permits


The earth is a cage of sorts

And we stand here reckless

Certain of only one thing

That to clear a passage

For growth is to habituate

To another level of pain



I thought I might yield

In the womb of your presence

Catching only gists

And laughing when it suits me

Eyes confined behind

An eclipsing smile

Ears an instrument,

Like a shell

Retelling the blues

Of a misanthropic sea


I have no use

Of poems or hymns

I intend to stew in the scenery

Catching pixels as sperm

Praying that my mind

Is still fertile enough

To recompose


I’ve never cared

For templates

It’s what I feel

That’s extraordinary

The love I have

For the unseen

Which diverts mention


Sometimes I just need

To be silent

Like a barnacle sucking

With great reverence

And introspection

The beast it serves


8289038209_e2343a19fe_zMy bones are beautiful where they rest

In the crux of your loving disposition


There is wonder in romance,

In the capacity of a soul

That had seemed too savage

For reprieve


Poetry is composed

As a human heart

Wild but reticent

I divide continents

And constituents

Into chambers for both

Conquest and exaltation


There’s nothing as decadent as introspection

The dimensions I’ve seen overtake the stars

In both eradicative and incendiary capacity


This is a hint for the prompt

Stand up

andyvanoverberghe_circlesofquanta7_thecycle_by_andyvanoverberghe-d6nmja0She is a call to heaven

The darkness around which

Stars are posthumously hung


My clay feet know

Both earth and sea

But the sky aspires

Higher and higher

With every extension


With my vertebrae

Horizontally stacked

I could go on forever

For a circle ends

Exactly as it begins

But if vertical,

I will undoubtedly fall

(I stand up

In spite of fear)


I carry you in silence

For it is through silence

That melody is relayed


My pulse struggles

Under the pressure

Of our overlapping breaths

Together we are imperishable

For no wrath exists

That can dissolve regard

Prompt 21 My Story


This weeks prompt is My Story any of you who read my post “My Story” got a preview. Hopefully you’ve been contemplating, maybe you’ve even gotten started, maybe you’ve even finished. For those of you who didn’t read the prompt preview or for those of you who just need a reminder choose a period of your life to relate (if ambitious you can do an abridged version of key moments of your life up until this point).  My own story attempts to answer the question “What triggered you to write?” I want your story to answer a question as well but it need not be the same question in fact it can be any question at all “What is the driving force in your life?” “What is love?” “What is the most profound spiritual experience you’ve ever had?” The question can be deep or it can be much simpler “Why do I love penguins?” “Why do I hate hotdogs?” The story you share can be light-hearted and funny or it can be the kind of story that leaves your audience in tears or it can be something in between. You can be the hero, the villain, or just a neutral character in the story. I have shared some dark elements of my nature and past. I have shown some of my character flaws,  you do not have to share anything you do not feel comfortable sharing. If you want to talk about summer camp and you loved summer camp talk about summer camp. It is up to you. If you want to share a photo or artwork share something particularly meaningful to you, a work that you are especially pleased with). Your entries this week might be long so it will take me longer to read and comment on them. I will get to all of them though as I always do. I have a busy weekend so I may not get started until next week.

Pulling Threads

heart with thread

I fold my limbs inward

A shapeless, imperceptible stalk

That does not flower or incline

It’s sullen face skyward



My roots rejoice

In fertile soil

Never mind that it is the corpse

Of my very own heart

That I indiscriminately feed upon

I know no blood sweeter than ink

No obsession more compulsive

Than pulling out threads


I will strip my psyche

Until no sin can claim wholly

My innocence

Until no trauma

Can force me to sleep

And act unconsciously


There is nothing more alluring

Than sincerity

I’ll offer myself without

Caveat or camouflage

Judge me if you must

But never say

That I wasn’t myself


I defend against oversight

No one truly wants to be


No one wants to scream

Their echos

Recoiling in vacancy

Every molecule within

Seeks to connect


I hunt for your true name

That I may work my voodoo

Into your arteries and veins

There is no more pervasive addiction

Than love

I crave it more than most

Having entered this world

With nothing but my instincts


My 3 obsessions

1. Introspection

2. Writing

3. Love

Submission for

Poet’s United