Wordle #264


If I had one thing to say to you
it would be forgive, forgive, forgive
only then can we begin to understand each other.

The red thread has been shorn in two.
Destiny is not a tapestry but a threat,
her immutable filaments serve only to veil.

My eyes-two bees pollinating-
grow heavy with what they have seen
ignorance is not always so innocent.

I have chosen occlusion,
the constellations will go on sparkling
whether or not I observe them.

One molecule at a time we fashion
our defenses, precise as a cuttlefish,
until there is nothing left to anticipate.

I have forgotten the lightness of movement.
The dirt flakes from beneath my fingernails;
the worms have grown fat while I slumber.

Don’t be so quick to kill me off,
to condemn, we are the same
whatever the difference in our affectations.

I have had some very heavy, stressful, and disturbing dreams lately. I am also sick possibly from the stress of those dreams.


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.

Forgive Me

Have I ever composed an apology

That did not gesture for sympathy?

I have always sought to avoid blame

And those violations which can not be

Rectified will likely destroy me.

What is an apology without amends?

And can one ever be sufficiently

Reformed to qualify for forgiveness?

I am selfish and generous

But the former, though essential

To survival, is impermissible.

How do I become a god?

That I should not want,

That I should be limitless,

Without exception and always ready.

How can I commit to promises

That do not permit my imperfections?

I understand the need

To confess plainly

But when I am the mistake

How do I avoid repetition?

I am, at least in my own mind,

More criminal than crime.

An accusation comes seemingly

At the expense of my life.

I am a coward.

I can think of no explanation for love

Only that I will never admire the portrait.

How can I see beyond my own self-loathing?

How much guilt can I ingest before

Living becomes itself taboo?

I want others to think well of me,

I am scared to acknowledge

My faults without clarification,

Clarifications inevitably beget justifications,

If I do not justify does it imply

That I do not care?

Do my justifications seek

Eradication of self?

I do not know.

I feel compelled to recommend myself

Because I cannot shake the notion

That I must earn love anymore

Than I can shake the notion

That I am undeserving of its reception.

I cannot bring myself to give you

A reason to leave.

I do not want you to leave

But experience has proven

That I am intolerable.

How can I apologize for your feelings

When they bear no semblance to my intentions

And come from insecurities furnished before

I was even born? I was not born a devil

Even if I fell directly into enemy hands.

You did not love me from the first

And perhaps not for a long time after.

There is no law against hate

Only what follows so often in its course.

I have wanted for love ever since

But those initial absences cannot be filled.

Though I have forgiven you,

I still find you prickly and take offense

Where none may have been intended.

How often you cite my short-comings

And some days I find it hard to initiate

Knowing that my failings have already arrived.

2 Poems (Gehenna and Well) *warning deals with abuse*



In a ruined temple

I offered my heart. as small

As an infant’s fist


I held my tongue when

Faced with your authority

Defenseless and scared


I truly believed

In time you would love me as

I needed to be


As a daughter not

As a surrogate to my

Very own mother


Was I born broken

Or did the light displace a

Structural darkness?


I recall your hands

Peeling wool from a flock-less

Sheep to hide your sin


Grinding bone so that

Crippled I would never walk

On my own again


It was your black veins

Spiraling around my throat

To silence the screams


Never the monster

I supposed myself to be

Now a willing stray


What have I become?

An unchecked antihero

Denouncing all love


A dragon-scaled waif

Patiently suicidal

Tending Gehenna



Windows black as a night sky unpinned

Eyes darker still, mouth a well, an

Open-mouthed ossuary, in my soul the

Bones of a dead child turning tricks at

A critical deficit. I am a little more broken

Than I thought I would be, in the end a

Savior unsaleable, ophidian these neural

Pathways exiled by repeated exposure

To wicked  trees, I opened my eyes only to

Blink you were there father remember?


(I read this book recently on child abuse and it really got me apparently.)



I have broken down inside of these poems,

Each one a declaration of war


My heart is made of cartilage

The softer flesh has, in support

Of my deficiencies, hardened


Time does not resolve

Every dilemma

Without interference

I am certain to remain

Between the lines


I have spent too much time

Deciphering to create,

In any case, the void does not

Favor innovation


My muse is full of detours and distinctions

Sometimes I wonder what a topic implies

About the state of my immortal soul

My fictional works being especially gregarious

Lack the armament necessary to safeguard their secrets


I like to feel the words, which given my execution

Lift up from the page like Braille

I don’t need ink to solidify my grievances

They are bourne in my blood, like ruin