The Far Side of a Heart

In the cosmos
of the body; the
heart is half-
shrouded. In
the darkness
of the far side.
So what one sees
is a half heart,
pumping, expanding,
contracting,
wheezing, stopping.
And invisible
veins exploding
into view. The
darkness gulps
all the sound too;
chaos of life lining
the funereal quiet.
The Far Side of a
Heart is shrouded in
darkness; it stayed
too far away
from itself.

The Abandoned Pant-Hook

The cold claw
clutching at air
lay dead. A
solitary string
,strung around
its pores, stuck
in time. The
landscape was
still, suspended
, abandoned.
My eyes the
only lighthouse
pouring over
human remnants.

Why Newspapers Must Never Dally With Literature

The paper boy doesn't
know he is the messenger
of love. Infinitesemally
eroding the big moldy
chunk of familiarity;
as he attempts his
cupid arrows at
greying, plastered,
receding tenements.

His concern is
one of time; and
accuracy. Of
unrecognized
missives devoured
unfaithfully.

It is, after all,
those tyrant,
letters-of-men,
seeding in us;
ourselves.

Stereotyping the shy bride

A glance;
and smoked
red. A misty
eyed irritant
softened by
flesh fading
in and out.

Like
soldering
a fire.
Twig on
twig clasping
and letting
go giggling.

Shy of
touch.
Afraid, a
little; of
what has
already
been
said.

Work Hours

My stomach
is a vacuum.
An emptiness
sucking out
of my head,
ideas to change
the world.

So I sit
at my incomplete
cubicle, hungry,
empty-headed;
my tummy carrying
the future
of the world.