The heart is in the hand,
the ladles in spoon
dripping,
begging, for
anything more
than a simplified
version of hope
Fault belies the figment
of solitary contention
Fact betrays with its
magnetic lustfulness
the pheromone’s
however, grow
lost when companioned
by distrust’s harvest
Failure sires grief
A grief begetting
autonomy, one
of sorrowful denouncement,
where
streams of guilt
forever pervade those
crescendos that your
secrets keep—
Blissful repression,
questing amongst
the pungent pittance
of gnostic glaze,
purveying the
articulations buried deep,
into A place, further
than that of sleep
Archaeology of the
symptoms and the broken
accord, traversing
diamonds not quite, fully self-absorbed—
abandoned by the vast
rapids flow, with but one paddle and
A stream so cruel
Built within every
longing moment, there, betwixt the
now and those faded
memories when time still favored
the moments yet to
come, while still
existing was a sense
of where
Stop on over to D'Verse, where every Tuesday we have the greatest Poetry Celebration on the planet. Yep, Open Link Night opens at 3pm and runs throughout the night. With so many talented poets showing up each and every week, you just have to head on over and see what's being shared at the pub, always a great time.
