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• phases
• love
• Tragedy
• ode to a praying mantis
• Life Lingers For No One
• I just had to say
• Loveless Sea
• kiss and tell

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we grapple with the labor of our days,
make unpromising promises,
pray to
a god without a name,
and wish our dreams to be serene-
with all of this
our eyes are left
smiling at the reddish sky

For our mouths are enraptured
by it and our minds worship the
obscure
nature of it:
It is analogous to a violent storm
gushing away our serenity-

it comes unannounced like evil
in the good hearts of men. It preys
upon
the serene and the desolate:
becoming the enigma upon its hostile
rape. It
welcomes us to its tangibly
erotic divine banquet where we
become enslaven
by its very essence-
we dine on its bread, only to experience
the laggard
weaning of its damned nourishment
causing our lives to drip away-
dripping
away with its cursed horror
second by second- then when we are least

conscious, it vanishes as if it was never present-
then only memories of
times past-
the drama of emotion carved in marble
to be eternally mourned.

unable to be conceived
contrast to Marlow:
Time traveled through the

pathways of happiness.
Yet it is finished,
emotions parallel to
the loss;
where tongue
evades to mention;
analogous to Petrarch's love-
with hollow
strength to reveal
the plethora of Herculean
adoration for Laura.
Once
again she is unnoticed.
Perhaps there is ample time
that is avail to the
mind
to see Time...

you creep here
and there without
worry, without care

crawling in my hand-
you must wonder who is
this foul creature- as have I

let me tell you a little
something:
fume and folly is I

I am part of
a
crazed enigma-
of how's and why's

you in fact are a
member of the
puzzle too-
life and its questions

do you fret about
your being-
your
purpose?

of course not
you're a bug- who
creeps all about

an
interesting life
I must say- of all the
things here and there

I wish I
was you-
like I said you walk
here and there
without worry, without
care

horrid domain, defined:
this insincere, unconscious,
drama of white
falling flakes:
Wishing Fra Pandolf to cast in
bronze. Awful philosophical

dreams lay puissantly alive
causing the emotions within:
untamable- beyond
Neptune's control.
Inside, the darkness- physical, blinded.
Inert, unknown
tears fall- runny, unlike
these godlike white flakes, aware-
as if the
discovery of meanings, though rare, of life.
Gape bitterly- melting these
frigid hearts,
and there it becomes evident:
the immense falsehood:
life
lingers for no one.

gape into its view I see its
faux pas, time and time again
I would say-
Mirror, mirror
reveal unto me true virtue,
not falsehoods. At times
I
would bribe, threaten, and
even seduce it- to my dismay
truths were not
bared.
I found my self angered,
irate to the horrid mutation-
the
widespread growth of its
lies, artifice , craftiness.
On another occasion I
covered
it with my black, black as coal
bed sheet. Avoiding it- thinking

it may be cleansed- I knew this
was crude and by far unchristian,
but I
needed to know and see
the honesty. Punished it for three days;
on this
third day I unveiled it and
noticed its calamity, its insolence
that my
dear Hamlet spoke of-
enraged I shattered it, along with its
dishonesty,
with a scolding hammer-
countless elements of debris coated
all about the
floor- and there in the
absence of the mirror, the void which
it filled, I
unearthed the truth.