Haley’s comets
Approaching separating
Matters of fact
Wolfs are howling
A wretched world
That having it’s way with my soul
Looking for someone
To take the keys and drive
Looking for
A purpose outside my wasteland
Too turn the pages forward
For the backstage
Blues to leave my stage
My paper lanterns are
Burning to ashes
Wasting away
In my self absorbed addictions
Inexplicable behaviors
Like a heckler that
Won’t stop talking
Wears me like a
A mask I can’t remove
The demons
In each bottle rattle my cage
After each hit I take
Can’t shake
The stench that permeates
It’s like the acid tears I cry
I see the decaying breath
I breathe counting
Down to the seconds
When the coffin will call
And I will answer
All consuming overwhelming me
Awaiting a revival
For my peaceful recital to start
Dancing in my shadows

standing at the bottom
of a crystal palace staircase

toes barely over the edge

so inviting, you might even die
to get inside

but you haven't acquired the nerve

so sacred a place
one could only disgrace
but the will
will overpower

and the cost of a tarry
is to wait forevermore
for the chance

and be devoured.

A silhouette drifts through the mist,
shaped by memory but not quite there—
a figure lost between the spaces
where time forgets its own name.


Wings flutter, soft as dust,
stirring the silence in slow breaths,
like the whispered promise
of something never meant to be.


The air is thick with the weight of nothing—
a presence that slips through your fingers
before you can hold it,
before you can understand.


In the distance, a song plays,
but its notes are hollow,
echoing through the vacant spaces
of a forgotten world.


It is as though the fairy exists,
but only in the spaces where eyes do not see,
where dreams and memories fold together
like forgotten pages,
and everything is both real
and utterly lost.


You reach for the hollow light,
but it fades before you touch it,
leaving only the scent of something once pure,
a trace of something you can never claim,
floating away
into the quiet dark.

such majesty

a nightjar call


eyes of a tragedy

after the fall


sprawling winter

baleful

gleaming


pale steps

hinter


ever redeeming


those before

swallowed whole


a horizon to go

My outrages grow
Through summer and spring
Pretty petals of yellow and pink
I tend to them in daily fashion
Growing them lofty is my passion

My incense, made of citrus and pine
Will leave you witless
Smelling divine
Displayed on a flimsy shelf I made
At just the right height
To hold your eyesight

My offendeds
Are of the finest genus
I won't pretend they're original
Seeing as the variations are thousands
And seedless
But just between us
It's easy to keep up
Spreading stones through the glass
Like a **** does