Rub rub, smudge smudge, scratch scratch.

Day after day, you’ve made me betray and display my soul. Then you watch the show, point at my knots, do or do not applaud. These bent plots trick me to my rare implosions and your probing finger is inching closer to my whole.

No, wait; rub rub, smudge smudge, scratch scratch.

These penned thoughts strip me to my bare emotions and your probing finger is inching closer to my soul. Mine are just resting on the edge of the coffee table, trying to seem detached. When they can’t, they rub rub, smudge smudge, scratch scratch.


What is your average hero like?

Just one dark night can break,
Just one dark night can rake,
Whole therapy, all the pills,
The strong resolve, for insanity’s sake.

Bags, threads, scalpels, blades,
Pills, knives, ropes, aches,
And this is not all that it takes,
There’re other kinds of mistakes.

Wake up and try to smell the morning,
Wake up and try to quell the morning,
Wake up and try to tell yourself to
Try and sell yourself the morning.

No powers, no costume, no strange disguise,
No swords, no guns, no weapons, instead
A friendly shoulder, a welcome breast
To rest your ailing head,

Is the only one who says to me,
There’s still some hope, you bet.
She’s the only hero I have met,
She’s the hero I have wed.

Let me forget your face

Your kisses, on old pages
get smudged, washed away,
when the first tears edge
past my tale of every day.

The furniture in my head
turned rickety, gave away —
memories can’t sit or stay,
thoughts won’t go out to play.

You left but left behind
new shadows on my x-ray,
even in this wretched haze
I still can see your face.

The sly predator


The text

Perched on highrises, find
by the thick skin on the thick skin of its behind
that comes off when it needs
to breed, to feed,
to bleed the oily earth for its greed,
the animal that is our kind.

Be Skeptical

Sure and secure in this pure shallowness of yours,
Keeping notions, devotions and the “right” outlook,
Eager to please the trustees, of an ancient disease,
Please! Off your knees, the guarantees are no one’s to keep.
Take not my word that your herd is absurd, but do start
Ignoring the lores, just open your doors; and I
Can vouch that every pore will explore the magic
Around, that surrounds every sound, every trivia,
Leave the spurious, be curious and one big odd-ball.

Writing two zero one

Limericks were supposed to be fun,
But I couldn’t write, not even one
That I could call perfect,
I sit back and reflect,
If this poet’s journey is all done.

Stop blending in

In the end, you will bend your own head,
Spread the thread of unsaid thoughts instead
Of the lies you mainlined,
So astutely aligned
With the path, that you’ve chosen to  tread.