I have drunk in cups of tulip petals and spoken
to trees. The air has held my plain feelings in
ferries of clouds and crossed shores. Tides of east
and west winds churn them into an amber sky.
As little by little precipitation oscillated over a wide
distance, I stared at flags little ships carried, over
the horizon. While weary schoolchildren returned,
their footsteps created rhetoric with the music within.
I sought tranquility in ends of leaf and flower petals,
Sat upon beige sands with dark patches on an island,
And blushed so the world might not know the ebbs
Even only a sound within my clay mould body contained. (more…)

Window Is a Lens

Marigolds line up
as the Cocaine cut of Sigmund Freud
on my Neighbor’s parapet.

A staircase on the side
to get to the moon for an ass,
that curves in the cycloid
of golden ratio and Fibonacci numbers.

Sky paints itself in thick layers,
of doomsday silver and
gliding anxieties. I don’t ‘want to
fill in the blanks.

An ache. An alienation
a moment that
is going to die soon on its own elements. (more…)