Now He

Powerfully, a daemon chucks four out of five flaming shuriken
Towards cut out cardboard ducks of chalked up concentric rings
One, two, three, four– he
Dishes them out with the precision found within
The genus of trialed eclectic hours;
Harrowed efforts nullified by minds that don’t wish to see,
Flicking his wrists flagrantly
While gliding through the air effortlessly.

They, magically soluble, upon summoned powers
Melt into bucket shoals of water,
Soiling targetry, soppingly.

He, in possession of one last
Fiery water calling hidden dagger,
Yells in madcap epileptic obscurity,

“Bee-itcH! I now have your
Pathetic little life in my
Ridiculously good looking hands–
Do not fuck with me.”



The colour of her aura
Drew me passed
The black magic curtains
Not dissimilar
To ones I saw once.

But I, I am just – a man
Forgoing a journey on a
Creeded hill with credulity.
Kinesthetics hold a telescope
Niched at pitted ends.
Finalities given to me at
Carved dangers in her intellect.
Kapowed by her disagreements;

Radioactive love
Donned to me in ambiguities.

Ill Fate

Ultrasonic curses eked a siege
inside mazes of elaborate pineries.

Inchoate developments, familiar, sustain
copious numbers, sitting, stationed, odiously,
outside frenzied sceneries. Vestibule
like entranceways indicate removed,
emblems and mystical runes; sedated
then swept away silently; ejections
whisked by incomprehensive eyes
by bewitching telekinetic waves.

“We must reclaim”, altruistically garnered
exclaims of shared wishes engendered, “okay”’s
in the hopelessness of the pusillanimous;
life’s threads binding inside subjective horticultures
of pathways blockaded in conjunction to projected
destines, picked, chosen; orifices decided twice..
nay, thrice.


A nightingale dives towards
mined florescent fluorite minerals
as it curtails its wings
to change its trajectorial line
to land on an approximated piece.

It twitters songs of glib connections,
with its eyes of inverted concaved florescence,
of the artificial and the natural,
of ludicrously unblinking lids.

A glass sphere of optical filters
emits ultraviolet illuminations
prior to the dusk and dawn
of one star and one fixture; redux.

While it would plead hopeful,
aghast, on this storied planet
of ridiculous magic tricks.

In That Time

Find solace in the evidential,
In the gains from love’s chase
From desperately trying to
Find metallic splinters to
Form those keys to
Unlock those doors where
Fragments of knowledge
Would be found in mystery,
Because that experience
In trying to even understand
A millimeter
On a seemingly endless ruler
Pushed you further
Than anything ever could.

Even it meant that
Every magical moment
Never happened.

Hope’s Imagination

Screeds of inks slither
In venous pathways
On fragile rice papers
Feebly made by paupers
Who wistfully pry
For wishful tokens
Of compassion’s compromises
In the lit pathway
On hope’s flighty imaginations
Flapping in tragic
Wills of vehement longings
For real enchantments
Of magicless worlds;
Sombre realistic reminders.


Fictitious soap bubbles
Travel in innocuous
Elliptical orbits
Hosting homeostasis
Of love’s statistics
Labeled as magic;
Layers of collected
Dust and grime
Thinly coat and veil,
Covering the mysteries
Of incomprehensible interactions
Of misconceived utterances
Of deciphering sensibilities
Of those intuitively deemed

Is it romantic,
Or is it curiosity,
Fueled by
Is passion’s ending,
In the loss of interest.

What of general