Naught to say.

Autumn takes me by the hand
and sings sweet heartache
soft with me.

Cold practicality lacking but sought
as innocence lost
last luxury sunken, beaten and bought.

Lyrically, silkworm is tightly cocooned
perspective reflected on, still outside the womb
poetry knowingly passed up engrossingly
integral narrative crumbling soon.

What’s your favorite color?
Mine is diamond eyes at night
glaring through the leaflit lamplight
sun to rise before we’re through.

What’s your point, ingratiator?
Mine’s a half-formed vision
and it may never come to rest.

Halfway to the garden
halfway down the garden path
sun-warmed bridge to carry softly
padding feet from grass to grass.
Glass and shadow, clear as day
zen confounder
naught to say.

Last shreds of ego.

Chaos as the last shreds of ego try to assert themselves. Before psychosis, insatiable, licks the plate clean.

It comes to light.

Blockage mortuary in its icebound stiff significance
place where no deeds go unpunished
where doer stinking, sitting since.

Slit your wrists or your belly in shame
each iteration the same
each cringing base-head tweak same as the rest
but hatchling is fed up and fleeing the nest.

Gladly air currents greet resinous wings
still life in silence, the caged bird sings
my autumn goddess life-force brings
yet the bars, thin as sinew,
are twin shackles anew
and I’m deaf to forgetting when last freedom bell rings.

When to my skin ravenous rabid tick clings
sweet softness is lost flits with frivolous things
still the caged bird sings.
Still he beats the drum.
Remember the darkness you’re coming from.

Refugee mindset
joy escaping the blight
this chamber, still enshrouded
comes to light.
It comes to light.