The Matter

At the edge of everything
Lies reality of the matter.
Gently circling baby’s crown
A silken swirl whirls at light force.
She believes it makes him smarter-
What do I know anyway?

But a black hole,
Abuses of discovery
On a tiny, conflicted speck of life.
Hanging delicate position,
Advancement gifting light-speed
To destruction.

Darkness becomes,
Stars hide
and I
Watch leafy silhouettes stir brume.
Evanescent street light into night,
Dissolving immortal distance.
I wonder if she’s right.

Playwrights Of The Pawns

Absent are the Fathers
of masterful twitching hands.

The paper cup claspers,
fallen horses of capital race.

Nursing lost innocents,
abandoned ornaments of-

a crooked cabinet.
Symbolic sickness,
jeering circus chambers.

Birthed beneath the crust of-
fables of the free world.
Ammunition and full-up fools.
Actors to acquiescence.
Playwrights of the pawns.

Isla Mágica

I’m there-

You leading the way,
As fragrant forest opens to blue.
Inhaling deep,
The tune of whispering Med

-hushing us to sunset.

I can feel your eyes
Watching my smile,
Your skin casting glow of sea to sky.
Sun dancing  lazy waves-
To you.

Just for you.

I rest my head on you,
Tracing your thumb with mines
And together we sigh,
Dreading an inch of distance

-from here. From now.

Sailing the glittering path
I see you out there.
Everywhere,
In this moment

-longing to be back again.