As a matter of opinion,
I am my heart.
The veins spread themselves too thin.
Too lonesome to make two.
I am singular.
Life is a length of limb.
It strengthens when you run.
It grows tired and shakes numbly.
I am rising.
From below the belt.
Beneath a scratched surface.
Nothing anymore beguiles me.
I am my faults.
They’re perfect for games.
As my heart, I am traded
For kisses and caresses
Locking lips with manifestations.
I am always true.
My hostility stems from my poverty.
Your shallow soul is not my body.
No exhortations can create any desire
That I have not yet endured.
Because I am broken but I am real.
And I too lust for revelations,
Without hiding behind a machination.
I am unbound.
You’ll try to catch me.
By then I’ve flown.
I am free.
Filibuster the old man down
His fickle heart close to shattering
Vibrations astound his breath
While he wakes by the morning moon
He closed his fists and drank his pills
He sunk his teeth beneath his tongue
Veined and vengeful the dirt of his loot
Closeted in his arms he never washed
Polymer threads dangling near his mouth,
He’d been eating the cloth of his sheets
Alone he wears out his mobile feet
They no longer feel the earth but the translucency of his skin
Like the rubber of excess glue
Withering in his painful sleep
A familiar nostalgia drones his pupils
It drenches his reveries, hope turns to a frown
He lived too long
Youngling, be careful what you wish for
There’s a lot of mysteries yet to solve
Forget where you once came from
Be the youngling that you are
Watch the sun on your hands
Mirror the shadows of your imaginary friends
They will go ahead and laugh at you
In ways that make God see the truth
Farmers make for lovers, youngling
Don’t forget to tend the weeds
When you go outside, seek the stones
Be wary of the lurking trees