Lions

Do trimmer blades Understand “patches?” Do hairs scream As they are beheaded? Or do they sing to the Buzz of these steel bees? Do fingers listen To the mane’s choir? Will this choir bless your fingers With their voices at all? Do you wish there were fewer Voices, fewer ensembles?

Awara

Was a man who follows trails of vapor whispers, interprets these ghostly compasses, reads smoke and mirrors, prefers the pitter-patter of blurry rain, sways to the rhythm of stumbling drums, rubs prescription lamps, wishes upon Upjohn genies to forget; is a man who remembers only blotted smiles in swaths of

Maya

        There was a warmth in holding her to his chest, her heartbeat a soft reply to his own. She loved the feeling of water in between her small toes. He loved watching her smile. Sunlight rippled across the surface of the water like a golden carpet,

Pointers

There are men who wield God-given five-digit weapons, with unparalleled accuracy. Hip-fired hollow-points or Full-metal iron-sight finger-fired points. The shots always land. They rain blame in place of bullets, phantom pains in armor-piercing guilt, Magazines in the wrists, Foregrips in the elbows, Friend or foe, we are all painted in

Carpal Tunnel Vision

Pixels versus pupils pin a hunchback tapestry to my posters. Rainbow diodes distract us monsters from people, flashing lights are the only sign of life in this room. Zombie wrists wrap keyboard scalps, septic hands feeding on and off my brain. Lines of code, coke cans, and lines of coke

10 x 10

Poetry to me is beauty and free! Too cliché I can’t put that dude come on… As cliché that line may be, who cares as long as it is ten syllables, right? Can you help me for real? It’s due today. Here I sit working on what’s due today, Here

Effortless

Like the first autumn breeze,warm and wet from summer’s kissblowing through my heartstringsbreathing melodies like chimesyou came,effortlessly. Like green leaves, relaxinginto yellows and oranges and brownsdrifting from the safety of their fortresses,relief from the rhythm of humdrumyou found me,effortlessly. Like thanksgiving, we gathered at tablesTo celebrate our miracles: each other,cooked

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