It Shall Come To Me

Manic Flow (revisited)

called to recite one night I stood a trembled voice, nerves showing throat scratchy turning pages in the book was holding, all eyes on me, waiting a few sips from a bottle of spritzer, took a deep breath then I let out a roar, a wounded lion's roar word for word, verbatim every syllable vibrating gripping the sides of the podium, I felt the momentum the crowd went silent I no longer cared who was listening my faucet leaking while rusty pipes knocked behind the walls no longer ashamed of the roaches crawling from the cupboard, falling into the red Solo cup with its ring of beer residue beside an open bag of Doritos the cat was out of the bag the dog was out back, tied to a tree. the mouse was caught in a trap the whole house heard the snap too deep now no turning back the words coming from my mouth cut so deep you could reach in and pull out an organ heavily sedated in a trance, the curtains closed the audience left in stitches from the incision

Suspended

walking on water 

is a miracle

walking on sand

upon the water 

is a riddle 

Stuff

I wished to prosper 

but life had other plans

it handed me some stuff

and told me to begin 

TIW 06-16-2026

some poems wear a sonnet

the way some people wear a bonnet

Poetic Death

Trust sharpens the blade

Loyalty holds you still

Love cuts your throat 

The Jester

I escaped the blade of the guillotine like a court jester disrespecting the queen the king thinks he knows where I'm coming from I hit em' with another one knock him off the throne it's only words carved in stone there's a twist in the tail the dog cry's in pain what's the meaning of life if you gonna die in vain words are like balloons easy to inflate if filled with helium easy to escape the grasp but can't break free from the string attached look at that it's a bird it's a plane it's a flying thing people point and laugh at the jester's clothes but what they don't know is the jester knows it's no crime in shame as children all we want to know is why as adults all we want to do is cry soon enough the child will know why we laugh and joke and poke a pin size hole in fun to deflate the propagandized design to release the hot air inside the lies between the ocean wide divide we do not co sign signatures on dotted lines I suppose it's gonna rain if the sun don't shine will we ever...

The Making Of You

add a little sugar a honeysuckle lamb we try to recite the pieces of who I am but the words are close yet they are not quite the full measure of the spark we make tonight Curtis pulled the rhythm from a quiet space Gladys gave it wings and timeless grace two different visions of the very same view that is the miracle and is also The Making of You

The plow and Prophecy

The Warden and The Flame

he gathered her from drift and dust a lonely ghost of cosmic rust he squeezed the dark until she bled a brilliant blinding dripping red “I’ll hold you close" gravity sighed to keep the wildness locked inside she grew so bright she burned so hot a fierce rebellion in the plot she pushed against his heavy hands straining to reach the outer sands for billions of years they danced in place in a locked embrace of creative space light travels and light must flee she slips his grip to wander free when her final hour awoke her tiny heart of thunder broke she let out supernova cry cast her jewels across the sky he stands alone where she was born with empty arms and fingers torn he cannot hold what he creates he only molds and shapes and waits

The Cut Glass