Systolic Contemplation

in a minute there is time

-T.S. Eliot

Undisclosed

Who knew the wanderings would
never come to an end?

In this world
the artist
is a creative outlet for others.

The wetness of the brush—
the chatter of fingers against keys—
the dryness of the throat—
the echo of applause—

Romeo and Juliet were artists of love:
they played with fire,
burned for it,
and I haven’t shed a tear.

With only fear in my heart,
I raise my glass
and gulp down the whiskey;
it burns shortly.

I am to dunk myself in the pond
and perceive the ripple effect to be great.

Marlboro Red

I’ve drunk myself
into an oblivion.
I’ve drunk myself
wet.

How does one know
when they’ve
done
someone else right?

He sat.
Sitting there
cross-legged and all,
taking drags
from a Marlboro Red,
he rehearsed his speech.

“Won’t you
love me again,
honey?”

Absolutely pathetic
for a poet
set on
irony.

Honey is sweet
and you are bitter.

walls

With four walls around me
I feel at home

Nothing can harm me
For these four walls
Are my army

We have grown fond of each other
These four walls and I
We have divulged our secrets
And kept each other company

Yet I feel they are closing in
A room with four walls
A closet with four walls
A space between walls
A vacuum six feet tall

Born of Black

In a second there she will appear
In full dress with the wind blowing at her back
She will look at you and tremble with a glottal fear
With eyes that scorch the walls furiously black

We have all come to witness this second should she appear
In a fury of flames that stops time and ropes us back
Crawling through the cinders like a passionate fear
Frothing in a pool of a most abysmal black

Only I see her before the second she appears
Dressed in a gown fully exposed at the back
Her hair glistening like tendrils infused with fear
Smelling of citron and the most putrid black

She is there only until she disappears
Her silhouette dissipating along with her fears
With a guttural sound reverberating back
I saw an angel in white cloaked in black

Untitled

Endless be it
The Sea
And the less we know
As one who ventures
Across the Abyss
That shall lead
To unmarked roads
Where sunsets roam free
Less we forget what we have stolen
For thievery
Or wizard-craft
Can be used to beseech
Those whom are censored by the lonely
Outcasts
Wandering packs
Wolves wading through woods
We move to reprieve
To appease the world around
As history pushes
Unfolding
Our memory tangled in the brush
Or joined with the Sea

And so I dream

From this very spot where I lay to dream
Where my mind resolves issues in sleep
From this very spot we started it seems
Where passions ran deep and we fell in a heap

And out you walked immediately relieved
Relieved of the night and returning to your life
And out you walked as I began to think
Thinking too much or had I fallen asleep

I woke up here from this very spot
Halfway between you and a mystic stream
I felt you nearby at this very spot
And thought my way back into our lucid dream

At once I was fixed upon a stunning clarity
For I had been fated to grasp onto this it seems
Yet still I must lay rethinking my strategy
For nothing could be worse than to rush this sort of thing

From this very spot I decided it be so
To move fervently towards a new beginning
From this very spot I got up to go
To follow a dream or half-remembered fling