A Question

What good
are feelings
if they are
only
temporary—
fleeting
with a
pang of
blindness/
acceptance,
only to melt
and mold
into a
sweltering
sting,
forcing one
to face
what should
never be?

Red Line: Shady Grove

It slithers in nothingness, transmitting us Home. In its womb, we rock to the swaying of the cradle capsule. We eventually drift away to the lulling ultrasonic hum, and cease the chewing of our minty pacifiers.
Then, it is time. Shielding our eyes from the sunlight that rushes closer and closer…
We burst out with a swoosh. Discombobulated, we are forced to deduce who we are, and why we are here.

De Void

Why must I make a person
to be seen as a whole?

Do my years lack
some divine meaning
because the gears
of the Factory still churn
and all I’ve got to show for it
are aunt flo’s diapers?
Will my high balls be boarded
from housing shriveled-
up punkin seeds?
Are my milkless mounds
stretchless wastes of fat sacs
undeserving of a sucker?

Maybe I’ve missed my Chance.

“Don’t say that” they say.
I don’t answer to the flock.
While they catch
the worms,
I conceive in my empty
nest of
Words.

Acceptance is
the best medicine,
or so I say.

Hey Hon

Eastern & Clinton:

the C.H.U.D.S. chew
and spit
into a Slurpee cup.
Skoal juice spurts thru
crevices where
teefs used to be.
clutching a
Natty Boh,
Frank from G & A
finishes his 2nd
crabby cake of the day, and,
lighting a Camel,
heads on over to
The Silver Dollar,
where boiled
pigs’feet
and cabbage
await.

welter words

in our mind,
cyclonic words
burn with unreadiness;
this hit of literal smack
seeps into our veins.
the whirlwind of words
simmer s in souls;
excruciatingly intangible,
they are bigger than us.
waiting to be dispelled, they
crash on our tongues
until they mingle and mate,
creating the being
of welter.

This was published in the beginning of 2010's Welter, The University of Baltimore's literary journal.