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The Motions of Zen

Tenderly,
I pass through the threshold of
A barren field of mind, void
Of recollection or meaning,
I linger in chill expanse, free
From the burden of memory.

Timidly,
I carve faces into the screens
Behind my eyes, shut, searching
For recognizable patterns that
Will explain the direction in which
I’m going, with absent mind.

Tenaciously,
I charge into the world of real,
With fists and clenched jaw,
Determined to do the work of many,
As one does nothing at all,
I beg to see the light, if only.

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The Death Of Love

a poet cannot lie,

their muse does them no favours,

revealing the wander of their eyes,

the strings of the heart,

that need constant pulling.

poems about love resurface, but

has love not already been found?

master works of rhythmic wordplay

hidden between decoy pages

the object of a sonnet is disguised,

secrets of unthinkable love, denied,

the beauty of truth, in a well

decorated lie.

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An Excerpt From the Gemini Experience 

“You wasted no time” You scratched my back from the vertebrae of my neck to the buttons above my ass.
I never do.
I dragged my toes up and down your calves. The thickness of my figure shivered from the waves your thickness had just inspired in me.

Feeling my sudden tremble, you comforted my dewy skin. Who taught your finger tips to speak my language?
I look at you in your myopic eyes, they are kind. I feel sad momentarily but dismiss it as I push back your thinning hair. I’ve seen pictures of when you were younger and your hair fuller. I like it better now. I try do imagine what you’ll look like in 10 years. I see those lips and your mind. Ageless.
I want to say many things but I don’t have anything to say. I just want to make you tell me what you’re thinking, what you think about me. But I dare not ask. I can’t have you thinking that i care. I don’t want to care

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The King. I Fall. 

​Dizzy spells everything wrong 

Complex anatomy instantly reduced

To flimsy carpentry, whatever joints 

I had became bubbles of inconsistency 

This physical form needs your sculpting 

Your discrete and mastered expertise.  

If I bathe you in oil and rub your bones 

Will you cradle me close, pet me like a child

Please ignore the stuttering and fluttering 

And the pupils that grow and grow. 

I have no needs. My needs are yours. 

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Rage Against Desire 

God is a woman in control

With eyes of ice and lips of fire
Commanding grace sends a pulse

Of aching and over reaching desire

Delicate wrists dictate an obliging fury

War is declared when truth is perverted

And with her distaste comes a sense of duty.
God is a woman in control

With lies of vice and tricks that inspire.

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