Posts
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Where I Find Peace
In my catacombs of tragedies and comedies alike,
my preference is the nook in the section from when I was innocent.
As I’ve aged and matured the number of books has gradually -
Memory to canvas
I wonder if that’s how Picasso really saw himself.
Deconstructed shapes and primary colors,
All meticulously placed in their seemingly correct
Spaces on that subliminal canvas.
I wonder if when he looked in the mirror, -
Ode to the Wind
When I awake for the second time
the window tremors at the slightest
touch of the wind. I notice it never falters
despite moving along each season.
It hoists piles of leaves in suburban yards -
11:07 pm on a 20° Fahrenheit Night
I.
I haphazardly roam this “wonderland” of sorts,
yet there is nothing magical about these bleak
expansive hills that submerse my every
racing thought- releasing the whisper of memories -
the tree who gave
after it was all done
and the world had settled
on the final whisper of hope;
the tree sighed with relief.
it has spent rings of centuries
feeding generations of
unthankful fools that caused -
The Paternal Heirloom
I wonder how you live
Through a vague vision of self-dosing
Copious amounts of forty percenter
Guiding you into a limitless hole of destruction;
Leading you out of your kins life one wobbled step at a time.
Loves
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17 years
17 years,
of growing and learning.
These are the days,
I remember how much I am me,
each year passes,
I find more pieces of me,
I pick them up off the ground,
build myself up,
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τό καλόν, τό ἀληθές, τό ἀγαθόν (Transedentals)
The woman wears her skin
like a bathrobe.
She stands in the middle
of a golden field,
weeping fresh water.