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.


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.

It Clicks


 

Can you explain
The scales that consecutively run
To those that cannot sense it.

Our vision that pales;
His, hers, and mine,
In the faces of sophists.

Then dewy inklings
Of feathered proofs lapse
By subsequent engineering
In uncounted droplets
On tympanic shields
From deciphers felt.

Breathless moments buried;
Dissonant reverberations
Diminishing;
Things I
Use to
Savor.

Express Stops

Notices posted on pages;
Barely perceived train delays
Of misconceptions made
In ticks until effaced
By the days passing,
At a snails pace,
Encroaching the date
Of planned service changes
Of bypassing local stations.
Notifications, given months prior,
Ushered within the undetectable
Connections of tinted hints,
From branded jigsaw pieces,
Conducted into those
That appear to be
Neat alignments.

A conclave;
Contemplating;
What is to normals:
The unforeseeable;
Future pavements
Of grand galactic schemes
Of disclosed endeavoured minds.