What is a world without the land and sea
And what is land without wildfire and flood
What for are plains and rolling hills to be
Without the shed of Gea’s children’s blood
They build, evolve, and spread as they begin
Erecting mighty towers as their homes
But what are cities without all the men
And what are men to be without their bones
As such we search and crawl along the ground
Like worms and snakes we slither to and fro
But what is lost can not ever be found
And still, by nature we will come and go
We cry for help but no sound will come out
For we all clasp our hands over our mouth

O, I am not myself, we are two minds
Ever in analysis, one scrutinizes the other
The second is of another kind
So impulsive, a fool, but a brother
That scrutiny is what separates the two
A scrutiny, reserved only for one’s own
A game of self blame, but compromise comes true
When I just kinda do whatever sounds good
And it’s all justified cause it’s meta
Maybe some time later, I’ll suss this out 
Spittoon, four syllables, poinsettia
If you couldn’t tell I’m getting burned out
Well now it’s all ruined, become some meme
At least I should maintain the rhyming scheme 

Coughing on the smokestack pipes
She bleeds and sputters out orange, red, yellow fringed with purple
As she falls to sleep after her day of injury, she blackens and the silvery pinpoints shine through her holed sheet 
Centered is a big gray mass
She wakens and coughs up her colors again, this time they fade to blue
On and on
Undulating, just a dying background to the little actors’ meaningless lives

As I speak manically
The words spew forth
My mother laughs hysterically 
And her eyes roll north
This poem is superfluous
Why can’t it be over
But I think it is beauteous
It rhymes moreover
This is a feast
A verbal explosion
Don’t encourage the beast
Or your mind will have erosion
I am officially a poet 
And did not before know it

"dust"

dust
impermanence;
it settles into everything
revealing itself only in a pacifying light.
shapes unintelligible,
negatives and positives
the randomness of its arrangement seems
to mean something.
touch it, wipe it off,
unsettle it and thus yourself,
knowing no matter what you do,
it will be back eventually.



"escape"

a key to pause
and take a breath.
or one to save you,
close to death.
to leave the life you know behind
and start anew;
a ‘nevermind’,
a ‘backing out’,
or ‘cancel’ when it’s what you need.
“escape” to me
will let you live
all of the lives
you think to lead.



"ode to the senior year romance"

the joy of beginning anew
(beginning’s sometimes what you need)
torturously temporary
but what isn’t? some things just aren’t
meant to last, but only for
a year that’s yet to be remembered
made not of stone but etchéd glass
reflects on you (in plural) showing
two lives joined in destined divergence
here for a good time, until so long;
knowledge of this nature makes it
passionately in denial.
every kiss is lingering when
every single thing is fleeting;
and though the end may be in sight
you’re more content
to stay
inside.



"walk"

i enjoy the crunching of the leaves
underneath my shoes
and who could blame me?
seeking auditory pleasure, 
simple, undomesticated
something deep inside me takes a primal interest in the noise.



"a note on the notes app poet"

it’s basic, sure
but would you prefer
that anyone who ever dreamed
abstained, unless they had the means
to do it in a way that’s deemed
the righteous way
to write?




"44"

why 44? 
i don’t know;
why anything?
it seemed fine enough
to me
shrug



"eyes"

electric colors,
blues and greens and yellows,
swirl around in my head,
forming bowties and daffodils.
exploding into nothingness,
my head is filled with Somethingness.
where do they go?
or is there a destination
not quite as important as their journey.
a neon symphony
cacophony
harmony, disharmony.
playing all notes at once, there are patterns in the noise.
if only I could know what they mean.
perhaps it’s not my place.



"digital romance"

held so distantly
glass and miles physically
no such things in hearts



"untitled haiku"

troubled as we are
when she sings to me i cant 
help loving again



"sleep until the 26th"

there’s so many poems about
christmas eve, christmas day
christmas dinner, or the new year.
what about
the christmas night? the silence of
a world at rest, 
the gifts unwrapped, the carols sung
the stomachs full, the fires dark,
though a few may still be orange.
what about that special feeling,
breathing deep, and breathing out
a sigh of pure contentedness,
the shopping and the packing and
the cooking and the cleaning and
the merry and the holly and the
year is almost done at last?
i think there is a special kind of beauty,
when it feels like every
moment you’ve been building up to,
finally, has come to pass.
only just a few short sleeps
until you change the calendar,
and then begins the days again,
until another christmas night. 



"sky"

bluebird on a golden morning in may
your song wakes me to the world
and i cannot help but bask in its glow;
inviting, you tell me to draw my curtains
and in the warmth through my window i am enveloped with happiness.
chirp and be heard; with superb and glorious melody share your triumphs and your joy with me,
and though i know that you cannot, i wish that you could take me with you when you rise from your perch on a branch in the tree outside my room, 
and soar, effortless, into the endless beauty of the sky.



"11 pm, thursday"

chirp
chirp
chirp
…
chirp
pause.
the noise of the cicadas is my simple proof that i am not alone;
they tell me about themselves,
and though i am but a spectator,
i know a part of their world is within me.
i long to cry out,
more than anything,
to join in their syncopated chorus.
lacking rhythm, they are structured
in their tune, sans melody. 
though they are loud, they do not disturb my sleep: they comfort me, friends who never cease to call.
somehow everything at once, they sing in chaotic order.



"hotel"

light dances on the overhang, opposite my starched bed
subdivided, passed through window, curtains opened
panes of glass reveal to me a world both new and mystical
cars that pass with headlights on shine through, a part of my life but for a moment
and we will never meet.
i noticed them while they cannot know that i exist. is there inequality,
or is it how we’re meant to be?
less than strangers,
joined together in a moment at the speed of light,
their path and mine destined to cross only in a way as brief yet as significant
as all existence is to the divine.  

With endless despair in gaping wide
An incorrect judgment has mistook
Seeing guilt that obscures my tide
As I reel for a chance to look
For this endless pit thoust only guide
And maybe I can find a right
As I cannot undo what I tried
By a reservoir to misdoings by night

From darkened pitch of sweeping black
I may see what though this dye
Some off flung ledge leaning to back
A smoky sight hard to make eye
I try to imagine what I may not see
As I cannot fathom what is to be

There is a little dude who lives at home.
He stays asleep sixteen hours a day. 
Sometimes he ventures outside to roam, 
There he rolls around and finds birds to chase. 
Eats the same food that he’s had for ten years.
But every evening he eats it like cake.
Maybe life is boring, maybe it's weird,
Might be amazing, so much more to say. 
After all, I am not a cat, only
A person who imagines his own days. 
There is one thing for sure I know fully:
You make days brighter, in every way, 
If we could both speak, I’d say in a rush,
Thank you little dude, I love you so much.

The chilly autumn air bites at stale dust
old oak door, the world forgotten and lost
crisp gusts of icy wind meet marble must
inside calm fights against odd outside frost
 
stories once told of a bright knowledge spring
long since faded to a dim winter lone
clocktower ticks on, rusty bell chimes ring
the last of cold monuments etched in stone
 
all that’s left are ghosts, books with worn down spines
skewed and scattered pages tattered and torn
silence sings loud, no one to hear the signs
echo in the walls, siren song forlorn
 
mice skitter about, a bird calls in fright
stained glass palace lost the last of its light

To love and lose someone is a disease.
The heartbreak can leave your stomach churning
Puts hatred in old lovers hearts with ease
Overcomes passion that was once burning.

The hurt’s vision clouds with love’s flame’s exhaust,
Destroying their soul with a virulent flu.
Uproots others lives and create lines crossed
Leaves chaos and division in its rue.

Love provides an everlasting heartache.
When betrayed, can make the broken fearful,
Once found, it is forgotten it can break
Numbing hearts and power to be cheerful.

This bewildering invisible pain.
Love can turn the most clear headed insane.

I stare at the sky on this quiet night
The stars gleam at me, rendering me blind
How great they are, shining so very bright
“Insignificant” seeps into my mind
 
A single speck, an ant, that’s all I am
In this infinite plane of life we adore
But we’re unloved in turn; the cruel world’s scam
No man, no god, knows what we are made for
 
Yet the stars still shine, light guiding us on
What for? To find love and open our hearts
That is our purpose, that fate’s stars have drawn
The universe binds them, never to part
 
Grounded by gravity, tethered by love
The stars in a way are just like us