Monday, June 20, 2016

How to Make a Knot

There are overhang knots
that loop around romantic
ideals of fibrous promises 
that stick so tight to you 
only to abandon you swollen 
with gallant flattery that coil 
through the end of you
leaving nothing 
but a tightening in your chest,
the anguish of new heartbreak.

And you endure it

with a slip knot and a bight 
in the short end of love,
curving your lukewarm lips
numbed and chapped
with surmounting disappointment,
an open loop delving into 
a narrower part of you, broken 
and tricking for attention, 
but even that knot is only 
a temporary lust for intimacy.

And you endure it

with a noose knot that chokes
the the last breath of your dreams,
tucking your remorse in abject 
penance, inflicted cruely to cauterize 
the shameful nature of open wounds,
an ascetic acceptance of misery,
the bight made larger to properly
position your heart and tighten
the standing end of sentience.

And you endure it, but

don't cling to that mistake
that tore your heart out
and left you paralyzed
just because you spent 
so much time knotting it.

Saturday, June 18, 2016

Window to My Soul

you placed a window 
on my soul 
wanting to peer 
into what you 
could not see
from shaded eyes,
but I close the blinds
on your self-righteousness
and slam the door
in your face

Friday, June 17, 2016

Match Girl

She sets fire
to the leaves
of wood pulp
that indeliby
brands the thoughts
that set her
ablaze like


match girl burning
from the inside
out so that she
is the only one
aglow, steam rising
from the bowels
of her smoldering soul
and rising
like charred ashes
in the seared lines
of her poetry

On a Small Table in the Back of the Eye

on a small table in the back of the eye

you sit with a cup of coffee in one hand
sipping the black steamy contents
(just the way you like it) while balancing
my heart and soul in the other hand
like Chinese stress balls roaming
between your inadvertent fingers
in dizzying motions that leave me
with a cold metallic taste in my mouth

Inspired by Jacob Erin-Cilberto

Thursday, June 16, 2016

Wednesday, June 15, 2016


Sometimes, you tear the perforated lines
of my heart, and pull me towards you
with a slight tug of my exposed soul,
severing the final ties to my brokenness
while leaving me asunder in your arms.

But, sometimes, you rip the sheets of me
apart, leaving jagged edges that sear
through parchment skin, leaving me bleeding
in inks of black and blues, and yanking me
beneath the hegemony of your demands.

Tissue Paper Poetry

We are like poetry
stuck in between quotation
marks trapped by foreign words
fluttering around our heads
like butterflies in a sanctum
just waiting to bless us
with someone else's winged kisses
swelling our eyes and stifling
our own thoughts wrapped
in tissue paper like gifts
just waiting to unravel
in the palms of your hands.