my self : the muse

Category: regular


we are but animals
foundering to be
the moral beings of dreams
God’s perfect elves
lost between desires
pushing bounty past return
here to suffice and stay
till death comes our way
and never has had its day


not found

the human world was never

meant for human habitation
still –

some survive
mad with striving
forever building

unquiet asylum


promiscuous vanity
scorns admiration
shame and resentment
left alone in the lethargy
of failed comprehension


curled to porcelain
retching, wretched
ten years past
I’d be here on purpose
maybe I am again
romancing the virus
and its sweet song
— impermanence

turning stock

my mind is the veggie bin

forever overflowing

rank and rotten


heaps of compost


ripe for clearing


let us make room

for tomorrow’s delivery