.
On winsome plains of dusted origin
Gods spoke: “Let fresh, sensate flesh
Incarnate, let questioner, move lost —
Come.” And in birth was live funeral,
Wrested body of spirit, seer of mercies.

In a story set to flame for children —
Old man poet writhed on a new cusp
Betwixt madness and old firmaments,
Where spinning globes set time adrift
And mankind undulated like sad song.

Hush poet would never know in sight,
That meaning shared time with industry
And all the buildings that vibrate are cold,
Where tall suits shimmer and music dies,
Death knows it’s place among the wreaths

For tall tales are sodden by rainy graves.
It is better after — that poet was shaper
Mostly in death, like shining Phoenix,
Like concrete angels haunting chapels,
Or mythical creatures populating fable
As ancient groves of tree reach skyward.
.

.
Cut like shrapnel,
Were buried in blood,
Her words, so subtle,
Plain, ordinary as air,
Snuffing out life, painting
Oblivion, colours smeared
Into black and off whites,
Cursory as lept dark wings
Fluttering in chaos, fleeing
Like crows and loud noises
Out in the open in blister of dark
Sun and threatens and oft wills
Of rain in the grey, scratch clouds
Always hovering, she proffered a word,
Implied so simply, with eyes askew,
But, love died in bodies drained,
Words that broke with bleeds
Under skin, under cold sheets
Red as ****** undertakers wall,
Leading to solids, wisps, no things,
Stark and only as tombs of stone.
.

Same, same, same, same,
Same, same, same;
Words, words, words, words, words;
Something about love,
Something about life;

Copy // paste broken feelings;
Attempts at a deeper meaning;
Trapped with the same words,
Said differently;
Seven hundred plus posted poems,
Seven hundred more I scrapped;
But every one I write,
Feels like I'm on page one...

There's a noose around my guts
A lump in my throat
  & a feeling that I can't win
A staredown with Death
  & for once I have the upper hand
My soul runs faster than I can see
  & fear doesn't meet me here
What is this place?
  & why was I brought here?
What is this victory?
  & why is it mine?
If this is only a scent
I want to taste it full

Collect washed out colors
To put in my pocket
As a keepsake with no value
Fenced in for safety
Peculiar things that I let in
Thoughts not my own
I resent them like the fireplace
Who's flames took my secrets
But I threw them in
It's the only thing in this house
To have changed in years
Why?
I hold the past for peace
Yet if I forget
There are ghosts that will avenge