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Apologies for my apologies


Apologies for the mess.

I’m currently working on getting everything situated and put in order.

Thank you for your patience and understanding.

Poetry posts
Short story posts

Book Progress

The Pegasus Fiasco
 
Current Status:Completed
Sojourners
 
Current Status:Final draft editing
Outsiders
 
Current Status:Chapter 18 rough draft
Threadbare
 
Current Status:Chapter two rough draft

Recent Posts

  • Vigil

    I put another flower on your grave today
    The ones I placed before were losing color in the shade
    Were growing duller as they grayed,
    For, like a little congregation, they were dying where they pray

    I placed a pair of roses there before your tomb
    The other ones, I guess, had been devoured by the snow
    And so they cowered, hidden low
    For, like the severed things they are, they were bereft of ways to bloom

    I placed another tulip where your body rests
    Yesterday, an orchid, and tomorrow, daffodils
    But like a sorrow seeks to kill
    They seem to wither like a promise that we never had to test

    I brought a new bouquet, it’s all I had to spare
    I’ve brought so very many but they never seem to last
    As if forever is the past
    Because I know you’re still alive and I’m just waiting for the day you meet me there

  • Cutter

    Arbitrary landscapes in a flutter ’round the cellar
    Are they moving interstellar
    Being fortune and the teller
    Not the sold and not the seller of the all consuming clutter

    Piling in monuments of other minor moments
    Where we measure in components
    Being growth and how we’ve grown it
    Into fountains full of foment fit to fade like just another

    Trivial pursuit that we discover, like an idol,
    Of a moon, and we the tidal
    Wave we soon would see a bridle
    Like a sun now suicidal with a mask of cloudy cover

    Statuary still and here we shudder all the while
    Putting factures into tile
    Like a pre-existing style
    Of the sad and how we smile when we see that we’re the cut and we’re the cutter

  • Tranquilized

    I set a set of shackles
    On my unassuming wrists
    So that in search of tender trysts
    I found a string of jaded jackals
    While my care and my concern all shrank to cries

    And lost, there in the brambles,
    Where beneath the swirling mists
    I looked for longing that I’d missed
    Among the me I left in shambles
    Keeping warm beneath a cloak of thankful lies

    I placed in all the places
    That I never could exist
    The woe of words upon a list
    That, even now, would conjure faces
    As I’m searching for a hope in hateful skies

    But lost are the reminders
    Of a pain that won’t persist
    As if a love I’ve never kissed
    Because I lost the will to find her
    So I let my heart continue
    Beating slowly through a thin view
    Where the depths of could’ve been are tranquilized

  • Seeming

    Wrapped up in the intimation of a figure stoic
    Wearing, even now, a garment partially heroic
    Speaking words I never really understood completely
    Uttered as if confidential whispering discreetly

    Standing here as if it mattered to you in the merest
    Modicum of meaning yet I held you, ever dearest
    Bolstering the feeble feeling that if I could barter
    More than what I had then maybe none would be the martyr

    Wrapped up in insinuation cauterized and scarring
    Underneath a gauze umbrella where the pain is jarring
    Lying through the teeth I’m gritting tight to hold the torrent
    Of the failing benediction you would never warrant

    Slipping slowly with a clatter made of apprehension
    In a field of memories I’ve learned to never mention
    Maybe all I’ve ever been is something you were dreaming
    Sadly, though, you’ve never seen me…all you’ve ever seen is how I’m seeming

  • Confession

    I feel as though I calculate
    And never make a single calculation
    I measure out the permanence that wasn’t really permanent
    In values organized in permutations

    I set a set of sliding scales
    Against the metaphors of old deception
    I find in the dividing there are only larger dividends
    To quantify the meaning of exception

    I feel like I’m conspiring
    But never wear the mask of conspiration
    I organize the images and elements and reasoning
    Until I cannot see a complication

    I put another piece in place
    Without a thought and, so, without concession
    I walk along a dotted line of severed veins and arteries
    And cannot hear the blood over the sound that I omit from each confession