Rain Music

Clouds boil up


From the bowls of the mountains


Composing a symphony


Of rain


A fine condensation


Of melody



Pattering on the roof


Trickling through the leaves



Making music


Out of objects foreign to it



Making beauty


Out of city streets


Traces of fine art


Painted by hands without fingers

Twisted Flower

Dear Readers: Alas, here is another one of my little experimental pieces. If it amuses you at all, the title was gathered by using a random word generator : ) Hope you enjoy!


Iron backed

Sharp spiked

Deep seated

Efficient piercer


None fear

Like lovers

Flesh tender

Overly virginal

Not knowing

Beautiful pain

Painful beauty


Her name?

Mother earth.

Natures spirit.

Life’s blood.

Death’s maker.

Twisted flower.

The pseudo death

A little death in my soul

The mysteries of the blackness

Are opening up to me

A sky unfolding




So I shiver and moan

Holding up hand

To block out the city glare

But it pours through my fingers




One cannot simply taste the other side

Without risk

And the darkness I plunge into

Is only shallow

A sleep of necessity

A pseudo death of little levity

Trigger Finger

Life is a jester.

The card 0.

The ever shifting fragment.


So I crawl between the cruel sheets of bare existence,

Laughing madly, depraved, in too deep.

Trying to keep the sun

From tilting the sky

On its fire pinwheel.

Only succeeding in burning the ridges of my fingertips

To a solar crisp.


Curse the slow, glacial suicide

Decided upon eons ago.

A molten core raging into nonexistence.


But I wish,

That I was as trigger finger as that.

Sunset in My Eyes

Shattered vibrancy of the sky

Falling into my eyes

Shards of futures yet dreamt of

I Lift my chin high

Welcome the pain

Flowing into me

Fear that those futures will never come

And like the sunset clouds

Even now will slip from my grasp

Inreplicable, irreplaceable, uncaptured