Only you untethered me
Then spoke of my hands as though I loosed the knot
Eventually, you accomplished me
I sneak you now, I know you see
But do not speak to me
I, floating away in waters warm and calm
And infested
I don’t want to

Honor your empty manifesto, if you must


I am never going to tell.

I’ll talk circles around them when they inquire and railroad them as they pry. I’ll question their questioning, “Isn’t it obvious?” I’ll ask.

And should they speculate, I’ll lead them on, Westward, with the same come-hither look in my eyes that you gave me.

You taught me what I’ll teach them: Find the glory…find you’re gold.



Drawing them in bold, black ink and silvery stardust

Screaming-streamed across the age-old sky

Can do nothing to take back my life

Can it


Weaving them with silken strands and begging hands

Humbly offered across the communal table

Will do nothing to bring back the gentleman

Will it


How sometimes a Poem feels far too epic to manage anything more than a near-silent sigh of an utterance.

Often, you leave it at that, knowing another day, some other-worldly language, will surely present.

Persist, this poem will, and might seem, at times, like too much, or that you are not enough to tell It’s tale.

Everlasting is your love and your musings of It, this storybook Story, this Force to be reckoned, this Poet.