Poetry Drafts

A worried voice whispered, did you
Squirt; a worried voice whispered 
Did it hurt; two worried voices 
Embraced and exclaimed 
A single No: there were no leaks, no
Dreams shattered or sore stars 
Sailing far above. The cold embrace 
In the tenebrous tower, this story’s 
Proleptic irony, her farewell and Bon 
Voyage became a ballooning belly
Sparked by another’s life force,
Another’s life forced upon her. 
A worried voice whispers
Of mad… sad… moments of 
Memory recollection without 
Trigger and without purpose:
Mindful madness resting 
Among the Stars.

Empty Space

I can’t wait for Madness
To strike, for Her high
To arrive, to come and to
Embrace this vacant space
So long and so carefully
Composed.

I wait for Madness in every shape,
Shapeless whispers of Her faith
Like a doom bell keeps me awake
At night, at noon the death knell
Calls for everyone; I contemplate
My position: the bottom rhung
Reserved for the likes of me,
My kind abandoned and
Unappreciated in their world
Of forevermore Insanity.

I wait for Madness, Her mind
Like a space after a new
Line: invisible yet fulfilling a purpose
Opaque in most eyes, oblique in
Every mind. I wait – this vacant space
Becomes home – for another while.

Morning Dew

Morning dew and fog-less dream,
Curtains drawn, mind undrawn,
Dreams not yet undreamed;
A cold breeze on sticky skin,
A scream for more of same, of
Pain from another day –
Approaching;
Morning dew and steaming brew
Awaits the dreamer, the fool
Behind the veil of days of maybes
And lasting compassions;
Morning dew and fog-less dream
My signs that all is well, all is good –
For now.

Libra

Am I the cure or am I the disease:

I rest spineless on a petty pedestal
You claim to have pontifical powers:
Significant of ritualistic satire;

Am I your cure: your saving Grace
And your saving face – but you say
No: CuZ change is pain and pain
Is death …
But pain is life and life is … it
I counter and claim, as truth;

Am I your disease: your pain
Down your back and the
Shaking through your veins – but
You say no: CuZ the pain is not real,
The shakes mere flits of mind:
Like rings on a midsummer lake
Above the circle of life:
A balance to be kept;

I rest spineless on a petty pedestal
You claim have significant powers
Over life and death, cure and
Disease; I find that equilibrium
All too hard to balance,
All too hard to fault,
All too … much
Satire.

Snakes

Venom and spitting / your snakeskin slithers as self-conscious dithering wreaks, unleashes, and vents / nothing. / NoThing will ever convince or convey further engagement of two split tongues intertwined / the storm rages on / the wound of ages still festering / with will gone and without dreams / what will a future of word spitting and venom drinking ever achieve / in the world of men / and snakes.