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Latest Poetry
Reclamation
Cinquains
Monday. Wednesday.
Friday. Clockwork men waltz
In my realm.
A realm of my own
Division. I make these men
Fear their succubus.
Lured to adoring
Depths, wrapped in marijuana.
Pecks upon flesh, worship.
Monday meeting- lust,
Wednesday- fleeting desire,
Friday- burnt passion.
Pray reclamation,
Assessing this body once
Broken. Love thy skin.
Burnt out,
Blackened bone branch,
Light, Fluffy, Shiny, Smooth,
Left in the fire that was you,
Burnt out.
Divine,
Two guardians,
Held worlds within their rims,
Captures of musings of mothers’
Loving.
Daughter,
Who’s lightly numb,
Desperately seeking,
Something a little too close for
Comfort.
Is she,
The obnoxious car horns,
A back street,
Lit in all the wrong places?
Is she,
The reds, greens and yellows,
The sunsets of shadows?
No.
She is,
The lips sealed,
Corner drug deals,
5ams,
drunk agains,
She is,
Every city,
She’s ever seen,
Every voice,
She’s never been.
Her.
Family Tree
You are a tree.
A dream.
Dance in the rain.
Dew upon,
The eyes of irises,
Waxy mellow yellow,
Of a forgotten lemon.
Ensnaring roots,
Blinking leaves,
Peeling tangerine,
Reverie.
Falcon cry upon jet plane wings,
Sandy belts,
And black-banded strawhats.
O’ joyous in your protection,
Whimsy at the
Art of subjection.
You are but a tree,
Just a dream.
Found in the rain.