Tuscan Moors Sway

In the fields of caterpillar reeds
Innocuous seeds release
Their tiny beaded griefs,
Inside these tuscan sienna moors,
Heathers undulate in ethereal sways
Until the stagnant rising dawn.
Hemispheres painted in lavender shades
Donned by the creeping fade.

The withered stems bend,
Shrivel up, and then
Give in;
Turning into mulch.

Her Formulae

From a transcendental spacecraft she peered
Hesitantly into our Nethersphere.

We stared at her otherworldliness,
With our mouths ajar at slighted steels,
As she dropped hollowed amber pearls
Along with small albino peacock flues
And fragilities of unidentified substances
In disordered chaos’s inside chances
We meticulously caught; created
From machined computations of
Aster calculations by her formulae.

Shooting down in hypergravitational velocities
They’d shatter into microscopic smithereens
Along with the vortexing winds they flew
Away with those other mysteries we’d
Never get the chance to witness:

She jet streamed from us;
Flames gradually engulfing.


Nightmarish incubus’ soared through the kingdom, icily
Crystallizing subterranean plains in alizarin crimson yields.
Frozen figures of sarcastic synergies imploring motion
Within obstructions disintegrated as farcical defiances
While lost souls cowered inside these forgotten labyrinths
Where energies were consigned to shaded hiding spaces.


An underdressed Elvish Kissandra hidden
In the oak lands, sings her fortuitous odes.
She strums her harp, her hands plucking
Melodious tones as they glide to and fro
In scales that petrify our egos senselessly.
Tripping in a weakened state, she slakes
Her treacherous bloodlust with a stake,
Crudely made, rapturously laughs, then
Appears to run with dislocated joints,
Deeply plunging it into our necks.

They Knew

God, he’s chewing with his mouth open again.
Sarah pushes over one of her peas on her plate,
Places her fork down impatiently as the metal
Chinks on the knife beneath it. Harry looks up.
Fuck, did I say something to piss her off. The fuck
Was I talking about.
Time dissipates for an instant,
He obsessively goes over the past few minutes of
Their conversation, but can’t pinpoint his blinding
Miscalculation. Talk about ponies, she mentioned she
Loved them.
“Ponies are great, huh.” Sarah forces a
Smile. Crisis averted. They proceed to engage in
Conversation throughout the remainder of the
Night. Sarah laughs, she smiles, but not quite
Like she did the first time. Harry gets home and
Lies in bed rehashing the details he is capable of
Remembering. Recalling every misspoken word,
Blunder in action, every reaction that could be
Perceived as annoyance, berating himself over
His behavior that could be viewed as “weird”
(Whatever the fuck that is). But she doesn’t call.
Not that night or the ones following. He starts
Reasoning that it was his gain, and that it was she
Who had lost.

Harry would keep going on these dates, Sarah too.
Where both would, at some point, find themselves thinking;
“I deserve”.