the days are run-ons
within an indeterminate book.
pages, ending with slumber.
a volume. thick-with-minutes,
stamped in languid seconds.
chapters are few,
how it is like. without!
wake. do. rest. wake. do. rest.
time etches remembrance in creases of self.
I feel depleted, carved by her hands,
feeble to her touch
she’s marking. I’m pacing.
where do we go from here?

L. 05/02/15 01:28



It is 3 O’clock passed forever

The memories remain the same
when your smile held me in place,
your arms setting me free

Never knew that wings weigh heavy
at the outpost of love’s embrace
taking wind without a trace

Motion is forward, upwards
into nether, nowhere a face.

Gray skies. Blue moon,
sunlight that’s not the same!

It’s half past three,
that feels like yesterday’s promises
girthed in you and me!

L. 04/27/15 0645

Happy poetry month to all!

Light in the night!

less of me
less of me
every second, there’s less of me.
spent, ebb and flow,
in the hours of yesterday.

I awake onto ‘morrow
face the rising tides of future.
bent! Low. Grow!

less of me
on morning’s breath,
midnight ran its course.
grabbed, held with no remorse
to make of me onto my death.

gone, the sorrow.
less of me, full of woe
blow for blow eye the storms
light as flight

less, less, of me
O! Wings of delight!

L. 04/08/15 0908

Inspired by the tenth muse’s “evitability”

***** some people don’t give up on you even when you’re ready to give up. They make certain to bring you out, pull you to do what they know you enjoy, in spite of yourself. Thank you Mr. T. I did this for you.*****

The docent of Hades




they said
he died of heartbreak and sorrow
hell-bent on (repent-tense)

a stance,
anchored on mosaic-yesterdays
floating on molasses and blues

his mind, a humidor for sentences
not given, uttered, nonetheless served

in seconds

compartments of guilt and regret laced with
forays of absinthe-absences

none could tell when life gave him up
or when he found the way to redemption
on this journey of punches between forgetfulness, regret, freedom

Pounding. Pounding.
Pounding. Pounding.


free indeed!
free is he!

weep no more!
lulled no more!
one thing for sure,
true to his core,
he swam ashore.
to fly above,

on the wings of heartbreak and sorrow.

L. 01/31/15 0142





Men tears

I collect them!

in buckets
drained over the years
from sunny days
inside their smiles

I collect them!

not even in my bed
sweet, salted wounds
bottled up monsoons

I collect them!

in solitude
wind-blown quietude
laid down liaisons
feels like a mission

I collect them!

Men tears!

parting words
never heard
salted and sweet
purged down cheeks to my feet

I collect them!

from them that can’t let go
of those who won’t say no
gifted in long embrace
wrapped in moonlight lace

Men tears!

I collect them!

L. January 18, 2015 1800


Those who don’t allow themselves to cry pass the hurt onto others who will!