Selected work & poetry
Don’t get me wrong
‘don’t get me wrongs have been mistreated
for all assigned meanings different from the,
‘hey, you genuinely could be misunderstanding me’.
a casual throw away,
buckets of don’t get me wrong I love my job,
buckets full of burnt cig butts still hot with aggression.
You had felt the right to exercise them
between your friends,
but it’s just as empty as the betweens of your own life.
So engrained in all the normal brained ones,
a sheeple throw into mindless conversation.
What an unproductive way of being.
Just like a poem
being a statement
more than poetry,
don’t get me wrong.
Eye Touch
eye touch of a poet if i can call myself that
for a leaf of thought to fall
or a writing of a drum.
sacred for a heart, but a little bit is not
all for a clear sky dark
to turn away from golden
in a break of dawn.
because if everything is all at once
yet we eye the feeling of time.
that is why because
it is and you think it is not.
we all forgone to not die young.
I feel loved by poetry
when writing poetry
I go back to my own,
openly armed, channeled perception
it flows out as it should
and as they should exist,
on the precipice of totality,
because of how unformed they were
walking crossed before.
they just waited to be loved.
and I feel loved by life,
for out of mind I am accepted to be.
Box
Nobody will know the
joints around the cube
when the lines of this box
is all we’ve been put into.
Gnarling off the corners
You find those who sought out more.
A limited digestion with a hard reach.
No ounce of newness,
an unlit illuminated candle.
Because all alike,
for a space
squared on our own.
Until everybody is awake again
Glassy morning dew
lanterns lost in daylight
golden green and houses
lands far away
a morning draft to write again
before a cup
during, and after
until everybody is awake again.