Unhappy in the present and

distant ways.

Even amidst these images

and if they were to manifest

clutching my head

their breasts and wash

away the drought of tears from

my faces, cracking the hollow’ess

from my smiles, breathing into the

sighs if laughter.


As the boredom cascades into

an even decadence,

worthy of my own tears neither

any others, nor grief neither mourn


As in loss of nothing,

nothing is lost

What is it that is too be gained?

Vapid flesh-like attire for

the subsistence pages for

one, none and no one.


A sharing of the meaningful

feast of nothing with the


Ink like shattered pearls,

flung into the wind dressed

fate through star-tinted



Seeking Gaia’s bosom, as I

flirt with Mary moon, never

to tally up the ungrateful boon

Then flung face first into

some-other dreams

And play with those e’er to come nor eave.


Malaise of A Maladaptive Muse

A maladaptive muse,

enticed by the malaise

of archaic imagery.


One who is to capture

the blossoms, as in their

petals envelop the sun.


Here it is, if we are

to speak of the swerves

and our carousels on the

enchanting sways of these



Captured on each charted


As we cascade and conquer

the cartographic imprints

Swaying, swirling

Swirling, swerving




Euphemism of Intimacy

In the current of a

tangential euphemistic praise,

I pray, We pray to

indistinct drinks


Moving to what’s courageous,

asking why my name is

I listen to the rattle of my


As the rattle is  my own,

keep on your bibs]Taking sips dribbling

off my chin


Infantile adults, I

find this just melts

What is ‘my’ mould

Should ‘I’ fold into mine


Feet on the clouds

And my face in the ground.

Visceral Coast

In elated states of caustic

depictions, they wonder through

the fading landscapes.


With nothing ever present,

we stretch out our fingers

to caress and create wakes and

ripples in the cascading futures.


Each deepening step into the

frivolous sands until we reach

the waters edge with all passionate

jest and meaning filled gestures

we wade into the waves and listen to

the dusks and dawns and

hear nothing…echo in return.

Part Two

Born from the pinnacles, these have

been swept up by the fickle

falls of the silent crying cascades.

as they scattered their selves

into a jagged malaise.


With a laissez faire and burdened

posture they lean closer to the

blackening edge

and what was to be found with

all expressed articulation,

nothing to be reflected and

none to be echoed.

The Effaced Jewel of Jasmin

It seems I have wandered

into a senseless swirl, a vapid

spiral that has broken the

brittle back of all my prior



It’s a muse filled void that

enraptures that which is

nature’s docile palms.


Flung once more into the

rambling storm encrusted

winds. I lay my fate upon

the waters it first waved

its way into my sarcastically

ampled bosom.


The heart at first taken fro a grant,

then kissed by fates fingertips,

and then valued at the meaningful

pinnacles, now lifted up, it becomes flung,

and I no longer  cling unto

those sickly winds.


There is an unnerved cascade

of swift speech and lush



A candid dalliance with

language until the languidity

sets in.


The questioning thoughts of

distance in close proximity,

and find something, something,

a minute mutter of meaning

beneath the joyless guffaw.