The smell of wet paper

ink bled when
the pen sailed through
the puddled tears
collecting on a piece
of notebook paper
and some of her last
words were muddled
and hard to discern
their intent were as
clear as the August day
she decided not to
any longer
the kick of the stool
was her last choice
the strength of the
rope was her last hope
and the August wind
took away her last breath

Hybrid

drops mingle
as two alpha pythons
passing one another
ready to start consuming
the other at its tail

swirls the double helix
in a cyclonic fury
found on the plains
as strands either
chase or bolt in
their joint dance

these opposing poles
in their magnetic clasp
of one being with
two battling bloods
how even his
atoms are repulsed
by each other

though heaven
has wept and hell has
erupted within his
trembling veins
the stars still
tethered to his
corpse keep him
upon this earth

Tears of the ancients

it shall fall on mankind
the tears of the ancients
and they will be found
upon the dry earth left
behind and in the waters
tainted by hatred and
in the very air of greed

the tears of the ancients
will bear witness to the
downfall of mankind
and will be a tidal wave
through their numbers
and will lead emptiness
throughout the lands

no weapon mankind
will find to raise against
this enemy and shall
long for the tears to
have never flown from
their frozen bearers
yet the ancients shall
not harbor any pity

Melt the gods

stone hearts
rolling in those
immortal breasts
icy judgment
so precise
unflinching words
in uninhibited wrath
wide eyed
soul-piercing stares
of the statuesque
accusers and blamers
in this moment
of eternity

their frozen
disapproval loses
its balance
on those infamous scales
their stone hearts
are met with
feather and wedge
their wide eyed
stares tear and
flow as rivers
to the seas
when a mother
hugs her child
when a community
embraces its own
when a nation
feeds its hungry
when humanity
is humane

Arbor adore

my gods are trees

they visit me

in nocturnal whims

of the mind

their massive trunks

dressed in layered bark

are the columns

of their own great temples

and they lay me

in their coiled roots

where their May drift

cotton has collected

I lazily watch the dance

of emerald gleam

adorning their lofty crowns

and hearing their

heartbeat within my chest

I know that I

was one of them

Winter words

how these words

I've bitten into

are no longer the

luscious fruit

I used to savor

it's a bitter

soliloquy

and the very

sound of my voice

echoes shrill cries

throughout the chasms

of my body

yet I still speak

still I voice and

keep wiggling

the loose tooth

as blood trickles

down my throat

and pain reminds

me of life

Pre meditation

cavernous and empty

save for a few

dusty wooden chests

to the side

under some old

moth eaten tarps

I think they may

be filled with old songs

the chests

not the tarps

those type of melodies

that are better served

as bicycle wheels

hopefully the lids

are on tight

Black ram cloak

eternity ripples

before his feet

each step taken

into the dark unknown

the stars are gleaming dust

on the mirror he pierces

dressed in his black ram cloak

the wooden chair

and candlelight in the room

are left in his vacancy

as he walks between walls

as he steps between worlds

and the light filters

into the abyss

of his black ram cloak

talons of time

released its bloody daggers

and tossed him adrift

the void swallowed him

as the soothing dark waves

guided him beyond

the barrier of his black ram cloak

Unlike Pandora

must've been

irresistible

the inevitable

always is

when that

salacious cad

Mr. Curiosity

beckons with

his curled finger

to come see

come hear

come feel

come smell

come taste

the bitterness

of discovery

as what now

is known

is not always

the treasure

hoped for

within the chest

when it was

closed tight

and unlike

sweet Pandora

we have yet

to shut it