Discounted Poetry

The monkeys Raided. Naked violence Anointed them as lords Above the fools. The rumors riot, Gory stories, bloody messes, Lies and allegations. When you scratch the broken skin away, Set fire to the flakings, You uncover light That blinds the millions. You've been running far too long, Forgotten all the gold You hold Inside. You've been a quiet beggar To the stupid and the cruel Too long. Your sin eroded white. Accept your worshippers, Your glory. Rise. - 5/18/26

You can cobble rocks together, Hide beneath the rusty rain, Or wait until the days are hotter Than the fate we await. You're still not far enough. Two quanta matched Are dead locked, Tightly coupled, Even in another building, Even thrown across the universe. Laredo is a sleepy city. They celebrate George Washington For an entire fucking month, For thirty never-ending cursed nights. They even dedicated a museum To water. The years are dying off. The bed is growing. - 5/15/26

Affairs are always magical. I met your mouth On top the desk. Your oven breath Against my cheek Enflamed. Like an ordered sofa Through the postal service, There are only so many ways To put these things together. You lied, You proved so weak, And we were beautiful, A moment, We burned enraptured, Glorious. You stand graveside, Remembering oxygen alive, And it will dazzle, overwhelm, But never breathe or kiss again. Affairs are always tragic. Every story ends And never well. - 5/14/26

It lifted Like the spirit As a dove, Like a winter cough, The hearts in  Foggy breath On windowpanes, A fingerprint. It felt so permanent. It tasted of eternity. The dust of the earth Was heavier Than we thought At first. We could not comprehend it. We stayed And watched As it ascended. - 5/13/26

Dander, down, The wisps of fur beneath her arms, The scent of sweat, deodorant, And hint of something vaguely cardamon. The night's narcotic, Needle cold. It steals upon and over, Steals until your sense is absent, Till your breath is gone. When you strung the scarlet thread To mark your way, You never thought it might not hold, A man might don a razor, Teeth, Delightfully frozen, Penetrating sweet, - 5/12/26

On my bench down the stairs, I create these small aliens To release them freely, Dropped from high exploding Like ink-filled balloons. Most people never notice. None of them are Shakespeare. Most aren't any good, Yet every one of them Reveals something That's beautiful or pure, Although they speak a strange language Few decipher. Some just rudely scoff And some are lovely But remain with oddest angles, Uneasy, Off, And though they're not exactly Visiting from space, They don't belong here. Even when disguised, They're unnatural, Misplaced. I've no idea why  I sweat and sacrifice so many hours Giving them life. Perhaps they keep my hands from being empty Or allow me foolishly to trust I've meaning, purpose. Most people never notice. - 5/8/26