Good boy

My jests are lost on you,

On your fur weaved with realism

Like a tic it pinches, you scratch

With a look of Chaplin


Now I have lost in you

My humour and my interest

Why don’t you just patch

Your virtues with one sin



Good boy.



Not Tonight

Not tonight, I will write not now

First the words will torment,

Build in me like lava created

By a to and fro motion;

White warm lava that will leave

Me with no choice but to release

What is hidden in the folds of my

Proverbial skirts in a flow

Until then, good night, I will definitely

Not write. Not tonight. No.

oil & water

metal strings quiver, under

your knowing fingers

grazing on tightropes

risking my oil heart to a great

fall into the melancholic sea

of your voice, refusing to sink

immiscible fluids you and i

like time and love

never agreeing with one another

never free for the other


Salmon shirt, slumped

I-don’t-care like

Behind semi frosted 

Glass that reveals nor hides

Whatever stands behind (or

In front of it) like that

Salmon sole shoe that faces

Me, speaks of what its 

Master can’t;

Furrowed brows concentrating 

In the seek section

The pout secretively frosted —

Intermittently I feel an affliction

Neither hidden

Nor revealed 


i carried myself unwillingly 

to a new place where i 

swore to myself things will

be different; I will be un-me!

it’s cumbersome to carry 104 lbs

 of unwanted baggage that 

no one misses nor loves, but i

suppose me—

Have you ever hung on to

something you thought would

become valuable one day,

and you’ll be rich?

Ah, but never 104 lbs of it,  

I see


frivolous matters

that moment when words fail

thoughts haunt me

echo of voices in lonely nights

gently taunt me

I think of ways to stop breathing

I explore every dark 

corner leaving footprints on the 

dusty floor; i mark

each option with a cross, rejecting

then just accepting

I am a coward, there and here 

life is so tempting

out of nowhere i think of what i’d wear

to work tomorrow 

and just like that i forget of any

whisper of sorrow

             perhaps i’ll mark my calendar to die for another day 

Catching The Tiger By The Toe

Wind, the catalyst in making the

Waters (still & deep) gush and flow

Waves and waves of…anger? (Relief?)

Wasted lies the sand, on which once castles

Were erected by persevering hands

What a journey, that has no end, but just the

Want to keep going on and on and on–

Wayward emotions, be still precognitive mind

While I catch this tiger by the toe 


Why pillows do you roll off the bed?
Was it something I did or said?
To you all my love, tears, and cuddles I’ve fed
Laying together with dreams that are dead
Yet (like my lover) with feathers in your head
You pulled away when you should’ve rolled on instead

Foreign Love

Words are like wind that
At present keep your plane
Propellers sucking away my
Every dream, much like vampires;

I sit among red bricks, stove like
Baring my emotions to the chill
Hoping that when your contraption
Flies over my cadaver you’ll at least