Troy Mira

Today, the storm will obliviate your passing The pregnant sky will burst The winds will lash The gray firmament will provide no guidance Your waypoint thoughts will sink into the mud You will be utterly lost Do not be disheartened Though, it is disheartening Remember To push on and Give no mind to the fact That your journey begins and ends anew with every step That breadcrumbs, thread and broken…

I have become stone One that dreams Of being water In the dream I am defiant Weighted by integrity Stoic Cold Recalcitrant I am a stone in a brook Sometimes a river Or all of hurtling space I am a fixed point With clenched teeth Cutting against grain I am stone because I am told it is good To be stone But the inexorable water Isn’t the least affected Barely notices How a stone must chore To…

How long do gods sleep? How deep is their slumber? How are their nights measured? Which sun, of all suns, is sufficiently bright to unthaw their eyes? No matter. Clearly they dream, for if they woke, all things would cease to blink, be swallowed up in yawns. How long have you been sleeping? How deep did you go? What are the geometries of your night? Have you a sun? Have you light? No…

I Don’t Miss You

I don’t miss you and I don’t know why. And you’ll say that writing this means you’re on my mind, which is true. Still, it isn’t because I miss you. In fact, some days I try to make myself feel something, anything, thinking that if I force things a little I might get the machinery of longing rolling along. Nothing. Nada. Just acres of cars on cinder blocks in varying stages of decay, chrome bits…

i cannot write today/my mind will not come out/will not come out and play it shouts, it shouts “just go away/ let me sleep and laze all day” my mind, my mind, the introvert/ a silo of ignorant seed drying/ a ladder inside for reason/ awhirl in profuse imaginings/ though today, though today his toe has slipped/ he’s dangling, dangling from his fingertips/ for dear life he maintains his grip/ it…

i was love once and nothing but for love is attentiveness curiosity and care a devotion to another’s welfare openness to experience, ideas, action elevating that which is unique in all i assure you love isn’t a feeling that would be to conflate lust and affection shallow pools of self-reflection whereas love courses deep flowing in a single direction to sympathize, to empathize one must be…

winter has settled over my eyes my mind and blown out the fire in the hearth that maw of soot and silence deep in my cavernous heart mockingbirds have absconded with all that glittered and shone in me once bejeweling nests for their betrothed what remains is barely fit for lining cages

a few minutes at the kitchen table not pretending all those years ago before the fog enveloped my mind before i recognized the shame that my name trails behind that i did some fucked up things hurt a lot of people had some pretty horrid shit done to me too i have plenty of pain and scars for proof a few minutes at the kitchen table might have brought this to light given me some hope of…

wave meets break, roar to rasp, then hushed, lands exhausted on the shore speck of dust entranced by sunbeam, floating inches off the floor it's a dance, nothing more than happenstance music is light and light is the music that makes the fingers snap toes tap hips sway and bodies gravitate orbit and entangle damned resistance the heat that is the misery is the face of the demon entropy is why…

Young, was I, when shadow attended my side, The terror gripping my mouth and eyes wide. If I had shuttered them firmly that night Might I’ve avoided the stain, the blight? Do you think, do you think, I’d have turned out alright? Other children, at kitchen tables, with hot cocoa brewing Scribbled letters to Santa, not wholly believing But, wise to that game and how it plays, Lulled into reverie…

to shatter one must be made of brittle stuff crystallized and unyielding pressed thin and flimsy for cheap reflection preventing deeper reflexion from bending the ray to shatter one needn't fall a modicum of pressure to the flattest plane is enough is all that is required to break to shatter the mirror, mirror to watch the fragments fall where each day you held focus your lines and marks…

what, where, how, when four islands and the ocean between the myriad things unseen unmistakably discrete though in all ways interlocked this is the enigma of why the infinite keyring of assumptions none of which a fit

the whale reigns supreme over the aqueous deep a twenty-ton tank driven by a vigilant mind that never sleeps lord and captive of its domain those who tempted escape a long-ago break bellied across the stony beach to die in the shallow waters of our streets though a few one or two were transformed are you a whale are you warden and inmate the song of tin cups on the bars is that for your ears or…

it took not seeing you to truly see you i wanted for solitude to reclaim the time you'd pilfered ours and mine i had to cut the strands disentangle heart and hands to peel away the masks so many WE one has to be there simply was no time for ME i needed the silence to tune my ear to your words traveling from the far reaches of memory like gazelles breaching the trenches of estrangement now loud…

I spoke my mind and then shut the door behind me. That is my crime. You’re upset. I was upset but that never seemed to matter. In fact, I always seemed to find myself up against overwhelming odds in matters of opinion and perspective which made me feel, my entire life, like an outsider, deficient, alien. Regardless of what I did, motivated mostly by approval, of yours and that of friends and…

Fresh batch of doodles

Hate Is The Chain

love can be touched though never grasped remaining always relentless in its delicious tortures tantalizingly bitter for the promise of relief from one's suffering whilst also its source hate is the chain that permits love to exist and grounded thus foments in us dreams of flight but we are not feathered birds we must, therefore be sufferers