Archive for the ‘portfolio’ Category

Sunday, October 2nd, 2016

sidewalk becons forward

a web of infinte silence

a cold apartheid of spoken affairs

in moderation, they said

ive skimmed the walls in afternoon crisp air

where i swore you stood with me there

i drained vitality from your lips

twice clutched my waterloo

a stained window bared into my soul

yet the flicker of the tinker

sank into abyss
moderation, they said


Sunday, October 2nd, 2016

they rise at dawn

awaken me from the dark

how they bore into my soul

to check for vitality

when they stick the

needle it goes in

sweetly and i am

clumsily hoping that

i could stay in this

state of mind

for all of time

Sunday, October 2nd, 2016

how is it that the

commotion of the commons

brings chaos onto this

doorstep of mine

how it pulsates

how it cries on its own

-i wish to go home

Thursday, September 22nd, 2016

in the corner of my eye they reside

to crack at the inner mechanisms of my mind

at times they remain stoic as the


and the


of the marble clock

it laughs in pity

he was my companion of secluded nights

before the blood rushed in and detered my

sight across the ocean between Here and

There and how dreadful it felt to be left alone

a primadona voice and suicidal idealation

the edge of a cliff where I swore i saw

the shadow again for the fiftieth time

Friday, August 26th, 2016

legs spread a summer ago

an arch that would bend space- perhaps time

with claws submerged in gemini lines

i spoke as if it were not me

she touched as if it were her

now blooms a new pirouette

and she dances so well

out of the pocket of a penniless poet

caught on her holy trinity of

a kiss, a touch, and the temptation of her presence

pages of caricatures made of ink from lustless, dry moons

Monday, August 22nd, 2016

haphazardly spilt some cream onto my mourning coffee but

since when does dread come in a silhouettes of long waves and dead eye locks

time, oh it flew too soon

it made a fool of me too

candy waterfalls made for a combustion

of simple nights and a tapping sensation

of doubt- much like dread

it hurls me into the closest bed of my lover who slept soundly

in steady vibrations of a ticking time bomb

alas a moment for you in peace

was one were I was crowded by the ecstasy

of loud propositions and silent convocations

a city dazzled by hithered frights and broken wine glass delight

and still I laid stoic

for time can be so cruel

loud visions, quiet transitions

Thursday, February 4th, 2016

i swore i loved her once

when the lights of the canyon brought forth redemption from the aching of the glass shattered from the perfume you left on my duskwood chair

darling, you were quite the disaster

you tapped the floor in your lilac pirouettes and you kissed me softly and spoke in those bitter rhymes of strangers in past times

you spoke of Picasso as the paint of your own troubles ran dry and you took some of my own

but you asked ever so nicely

and the touch of your lullaby was the harmony in which i catered to the heart strings of the dead

it left musk on my fingers and lavender on the side of my tinted cheek

whether it was tinted in anger or in romance is the question

whether the sidewalk now is a savior of the suicidal or a mockery of the weak

i have felt the beckoning of the stars from it’s brothers on the gravel roads

and if i stood long enough to make love to the headlights of a passing stranger

i become a surrogate to a passion once felt long ago


disparity of the dawn

Thursday, February 4th, 2016

many a drugged moon has set foot on this haphazard town

long nights spent in soft soliloquy

sporadic evenings spent on the mass incarceration of a medieval sofa

a mockery at its finest, quite honestly

i spent all morning pondering the end of the rabbit hole

the finesse of a pistol headed gal

those poised to help at the drop of a hallowed pin

whether it is the man who let his machine scream

when i proceeded to–

perhaps meet the intersection halfway

no one is quite sure these days

in the fall from grace

the fall from this season’s distaste

the tranquility in surrender beckons

tip toe once or twice around the constant influx of vices and voices

belonging to little Jim and Jane

during the intake of poisoned harks

they squeeze me in vain, for

sweet summer spices linger in the air

thought of it twice or once or a multitude of once upon a times

led astray, but of course,

to the bottom of a gutter

the squaller of the misdeal and their wholesome banter

once it led me in chorus of laughter

now silence me softly on the summit of a cold, summer night





on time’s bosom

Wednesday, December 30th, 2015

What is eminent in our time being on Earth is the strength in singularity.

To myself, the promise of expansion towards another day comes to mind in the dire hours of the morning. The sky, in its brilliance, transfixing to meet the shade that comforts the beholder the most.

To the woman at the jewelry shop, who sought to hide in display and quicken her step at the sound of interest; the color was of a rose left out in the frost. It is not sad. It is only draining. It gets the most of us in our better days.

What is to happen when the escape taken becomes the peril of the outside?

It consumes at the inner ticking of the brain, and it consumes on the walls. Take a look again at the cracked corner on the wall. Watch it again. Again. Look towards it as if it were 2004 and the wall spoke to you of the opportunity to make a fool of the constrictions of space and time.

Touch it again. Recall how effortlessly it all went away. And so it goes once again.

Do not listen to the clock.

Housekeeping was the most curious of the bunch. How to plug holes of the wood floor because the popcorn of my ceiling kept dripping into the seams. A bit of my grandfather clock was stick on the wall and the cuckoo bird took my finger again. Time and Space became a companion of mine.

Never once did it speak, but it was alive. It would seep into my eyes– where the pupil and the iris met. It told me to rid of my friends and stay on the edge of my bed.

They were not always There.

When i was Here, i was never here. I was There, but over Here. When i am There, i am on the frontier and i am Alive.

And so i did what any other explorer of the worlds would do, I took upon a voyage of the familiar. Remorse was found in the thickest of books. Length, however, was not always the most dense of the matter. I read of men in power that seemed to hover over the third dimension and want to conquer the fourth. It was not enough. These were concepts of Here and Now.

The Companion of mine beckons on the horizon and I have always answered.

I seemed to have found There while i am Here. Stories of the small and immaculate; of the grandiose and meek, where there was no need for the Here. On the platform of catacomb theorems and quizzical angles of observation I made my stay.

And I loved it so. (do not speak of it so loud)

It was then that I had discovered that the most evil of our own is disguised in our own version of paradise and the colloquial. No longer was my Companion on the shores for anointment.

It came Here for me.

The stones crack underneath the solidity of my heels and winter leaves its flirtation on my virgin cheeks. They clack at the frequency of the grandfather clock.

Tick tock. Tick tock.

It made a home of the continuous and it left me in peril. The stones have groaned on the heaviness of my soul. My feet dance wickedly on the cobblestone street of There. Here, however, they stumble and scream coarsely as a beggar for realism. The painting above me no longer is a stream of the doings of vagabonds and scholars.  It stifles.

The pivotal merry of sadness is a maiden to the impending anguish of joy.

here and there i was.

here and there i remain.





a plight of the quizzical

Tuesday, December 15th, 2015

summer sought to drain the vitality of my soul

and yet sober I have been in the dawn of the perpetual

ongoings and midmorning brunches where spice was never easy, never put

dreading it so, i let my sorrow and woe up for retaliation

months by three, placed in bemoaning acrostics

taken by the hand, we kissed under the arch of periwinkle misconceptions

two stones thrown left and a dime left by a beggar, i am sat on decay

months by three, thy pleasantries have left me simmering in an abode

in a conquest for the tinkering mechanic,

onto the the plight of the free