A Manifestation of myself   The reflection of my own fiend insatiable The meal presented at her ravenous hand Darkness indeed enjoys company at its table The alliance in extermination makes a merry band   The Imitation of me   By candlelight I’m served what…

Quiet. A whispering. Moonlight makes ghosts of the reeds. Mosquitos brush their toes against the surface Of blood-dark water where An eel chases shadows through the roots of ancient trees. And a million tiny things are alive. Quiet. Or… not. Quiet but for the noises…

This is Not the End of the World after Neil Hilborn   I’ve been hearing that the world is ending Mostly from a voice slightly different from my own Whispering in my left ear Right behind the eardrum I’ve heard it so much these days…

At the tip of my tongue, It’s a song I’ve sung A melody that just rung, In so many ways, On solitary days, And now I gaze At the way it eludes Oh shrewd! Wicked muse! I stand at the end of inspiration Of wilting…

Started the one when things seemed all blue, Entered the life and moments got decided by you… Pushing the doors, rusted and were close, Forcing the feelings to be separated and chose… Again to live, enjoy the life’s all new song, Changing ways old, as…

  Beautiful reasons, Wondrous mindsets  Blooming insight Inducting memorials  Marking beginnings  Making territories  All in attempts and impromptu  Fast-paced thoughts Enormous headaches  Unrelating schemes  Piercing schedules  Shedding task  Managing to dos Insomic nights  Weary eyes  Increasing medications  Non-stop caffeine Fizzing sights breaking darkness

Apocalyptic endings Mass extinction all the way People think they’re rarities But they happen every day Within the souls of people Passing on the street You wouldn’t know to look at them It could be anyone you meet The kid who sells you coffee Whose…

“Talk about something ending.” He started. “That’s broad” I thought. Phone plan My lease I don’t know… everything ends… Buying diapers formula, babyfood sippy cups those little puffy crackers with bananas on the tube… back to school clothes new backpack, lunchbox, fresh pencils yellow boxed…

Now in the company of you with aesthetic odour And smart angles in white robes Hammock and syringe glued to you Chalk travelling in your in   Never had the slate to collect memories of you Never thought of you as a mortal Never seen…

I was thirty, freshman making up time my first semester in college and I took a film class what seemed like easy credits Rarely had I worked so hard in a classroom Week one we watched ‘The Graduate’ penultimate coming-of-age tale few of my classmates…