Saturday, February 27, 2016


Fuel the self-righteous lamb, and put him on a skillet.
I have conquered all sadness in my way.
Yet it tingles on the edge of my spine.  The mountains of
I lack self-reliance.  I pity the bold.  But take on regret.
My heart is on my sleeve.  Pardon my tomorrow.
I wear my life on my sleeve.
This is what I see:  an ocean outside my bedroom window
And a boat coming in to harbor.

Of Doubt

I once said that I could not be privy to the lonely
Flower that crawls up the walls of decay-
Remembrance is a forsaken Poet that dusts reason

From the rhyme.  I have forsaken the lonely flower
And he has forsakened me
We have yet given up dust to dust
Why?  I don't know of virtue, whatever will
Be impressed upon me.  I eat the wall of decay-

Just like a corpse that swallows the rim of doubt.