Citrine Dreamer

Originally Written 09/05/2020, Edited 12/05/2021

Bestowed gift of manifestation
As laid by this babe's head,
Bring abundance to this child
With bounds yet to be unknown.
Create from his flesh a conduit
Flowing bountiful in curiosity
And free in unabashed glee.
Fortify his bones against misery
And afford him only adoration.
Grant him true expression of
Boundless and pure creativity
Cascading from his fingertips
Or coursing from his pouting lips.

Hold his tongue from envious spite.
Transform those jealous intentions
Into tangible and fortuitous actions.
Harbour angers, fears and explosions
To free his spirit for fresh pursuits.
Transmute his negative shadows
Into innovative and fertile passions
That may regenerate his being
And unshackle his ambitions.
Produce from this humble bairn
An infant of widened eyes and heart;
An enduring and steadfast being.
Make him true, fair citrine dreamer.

Tar Kiss

I can stare you dead in the eye
But only my hands are fixed in Jute.
I play no longer as your equal
In this demarcated, lonely space,
But as your possession, obsessed.
Today the lungs ferment a tartness
That you’d planted years ago,
But as I cough up curdled astringent
So it may salve your wounds,
I renounce my previous control
And embrace your oblivion invitation.

Buried Under the Rose Bush

We never mastered houseplants.
Above and beyond, but a foot to the left.
A green thumb was never our best asset.
If you didn't shoot, the leaves would be green.

The potted plants thrived on the terrace:
In the house they just repeatedly cried uncle,
Their roots wiggling like an old b-movie.
Do all new killers go blank in the stare?

Gardening was worse than getting an instrument:
Another substandard, low average hobby
Intended to expand the pointless talking points.
Maybe your urge is due to seasonal pollen?

The effort level of the cactus was minimal.
Yet in a humidity it was still kindling to burn.
Should never have made them my central focus.
The hardware store had a shovel clearance.

I have to straighten literally anything out
So I don't pace 'til the hour of judgement!
You think I could pretend I wasn't here and hide?
If you go down, will you bargain for my pardon?


She lacks symmetry.
In the curve of the looking glass
She’s obtuse,
Deliberate in naivety.
Her melody chants emptily
Constricting her harmony to base notes:
Rooted and diatonic
Yet obliquely tuned, off key.
She reflects with the clarity
That only the distorted can:
Off-balance and perfectly malformed.
In the eye of creation
She’s a falsified sequence
Sat between design and serendipity.
A constellation unmapped
For her rising suns are only set
And her moons are drowned
In the tides they made.
There’s no happenstance here,
To her, existence is a gift.
The opportunity to remould
The kinetic sand in which she swims
So it may smooth the surface
To form a meretricious shine.

Poly-Cotton Shield

Don’t pull the covers away;
I’m not ready to face the world
And all of its sharp edges.
I’m warm under this comfort blanket,
Safe under my safety net,
Hidden from those peering, prying eyes.
I’d rather be smothered in poly-cotton
Than drown in the darkness out there.

Don’t pull the covers away;
I’m not prepared to face the world
And all of its harsh voices.
I’m calm under this comfort blanket,
Safe under my safety net,
Hidden from those intrusive, prying eyes.
I’d rather be veiled in poly-cotton
Than exposed the judgment out there.

Don’t pull the covers away;
I’m not equipped to face the world
I’ll just crumple at its feet.
I’m serene under this comfort blanket,
Safe under my safety net,
Here I cant be vilified for being.
I’d rather be concealed in poly-cotton
Than pretend I want to play this game.

Will I Understand?

If love is shown in red,
Then why do my eyes burn,
Why do they melt, when I see it,
Why is LOVE shown as I see anger?
As a tormenting pain inside,
Contorting, twisting, crippling,
Making me hate all that everyone sees as love.
Why is love shown as the color that induces death?
The color that drew an angel away.
The color that drew the last part,
Of my first love away?
How is love red when red stops?
It halts, intrudes with it's imposed rules,
Controlling the world as it moves.
Why is love red?


Baby steps,
What a contorted phrase,
A strange way of putting things,
It's twisted, messed up,
Why when you take things slowly
Do you take baby steps?
Babies don't walk,
They have nowhere to go,
Everything is brought to them,
Everything is handed, gifted, given.
When you take baby steps,
It's never just handed to you.
It's never just gifted.
It's never just given.
What a stupid phrase.

I Don’t Want to Sleep

If I close my eyes,
I'll lose that image,
Your smile will fade.

If the night consumes me,
I'll have to wait again,
Anticipate the morning,
Where I'll be closer again.

If the rest encompasses me,
I'll not be able to feel,
The soft movement of your breath,
The steady rhythm of your heart,
the tenderness of your touch.

If I fall into a dream,
Will I remember you're there?
Will you leave me in the night?
Will I move too far away?
Would you let go of me?
Would I even notice?

If I go to sleep,
Will you still look at me the same?
Would the night become a dream?
Will I still feel the same?
Will you still smile at me?
Will I wake up at home?
Will I still be happy?

I don't want to sleep.
This is the best dream I've had.
It can't stop.


Often thoughts are all that counts,
Sometimes words are
- just - just -
A minimal means of Daily communication.
When all that is necessary is a thought,
The vibration of human psychological activity,
restricted for a lack of telepathy,
confusing the vital with but only the uncalled for
- objectives - objectives - 
Which are just simplified versions of hatred for ourselves.