palm of a blue giant

a blue giant branched out in my palm
feeling me the force of love
pulsating in the corners of my smile
universalising my cure to frailty

each page then resounded a letter
that was me in the finest form
filled with peccadilloes but also purities
and the horse did not come to bring apocalypse
of a degeneration but a prince who was I
fighting with my sword and scimitar

an oasis branched out in my iris
a solar system of planets and stars
in the constellations of my all my deeds done
and all deeds to come
finding that I was bracketed as the moon
with the definition of suns

I glow because my luminosity
is the only one who I can proudly state was me.—

classical antagonism

nothing seems to be more caustic
than the ignorance of being ignored
and the indifference to the genuine
the practice of selective empathy
that has the negative zeal of selfishness
the mistaken selves on the shelves
of some codified, communal and coefficient categorisations
that a human moulds to serve themselves

was I never good enough for you?
was I never a good friend for you?
did I not talk to you when no one would?
did I not give you time and also befriended
your sorrows as my own?
and took your phantoms seriously?

why did you whisper sweet nothings in my ear?

it is hard to gain the respect of someone
who didn’t know what was the denotation of love
and the connotations of the affection
that lay between my chest

I palpitate
but grief should not be my second sun

for the indifference in you
highlights my love
and the nth power of my being
knows that what I did was infinite.—

precipice paintbrush

there is a precipice of who I am
and the narrative turns like the yellowing
of yellow pages; the archaic science
of me; proverbial and primordial in the wake

what can I say I am beastial, having to act polite
it is in my nature to be typhoon and tycoon
but I butter my obscenities so they can melt in your mouth
as I spoon feed you innocence know that my spoon was
an iron coded telos that knew what it felt
to have a poverty of being even if there was
the necessities to live; yet there was a refrain of self

a piano polished and not played is going to be eaten by insects
and not the kind that grow wings and molt off carnage
these blemishes are the still growing patterns
even if my seeds are blue and black
know that I have the chroma heart of a karma exodus
torching my veins and entering my alphabet
like the Aleph of the soul paintbrushed by
the slowness and sureness of the time spent
walking to this precipice
of who I am.—

papery intuition

a shadow etches my name
writing it as though it was inked by the sun
and slivered by the moon; even its darkest quotients
and craters edging like a spine of a assembling book

a river like a styx makes memory easier to remember
with the fear of forgetting; my life uneventful
still a source of some esoterica — how the soul
writes its own meanings; it’s own footnotes
that the tongue caught but could not spell
and the bibliography grafted on angel wings

making my lunar self catch the singed fingers of my
solar silhouette — chasing each other in the cosmos
knowing the insights of being lost stitched to fate
and destiny the dental cast that stays
when you are paper for the leaves to read.—

instrumental independance

tampered into a bow and string
my body became like that instrument
only thing was I was also the arrow
boomeranging on and off

never the passive fully
never the aggressor fully
I knew my glass was half empty and half full
I was insulation but also catalyst

my fusion requires nothing but love
of the dysfunctional self without the matter of arrogance
pride and dignity in intersects humbleness
a balanced equation; a revolving spirit

what is about math? the value of the prime that becomes
both example and ordinary? — bivalent like the human condition

I cuddle my bones as I embrace my beating heart
that told all tales and bit the vampire
for the blood of life does not not fear the undead.—

survival of the fittest-frailest

caught in a light sneeze as the amour mentioned
caught in the gale of my breathing
you mouthed the syntax of my name
and the blade of my passive movements
and the language of my kinetic flickerings

made 90° angles with my vigour
and the whole larynx tasted it
you cannot feed on me
without knowing I am poltergeist in you
drying you hollow — you cannot make me perish
without hyphenating yourself

we are bodies before flesh
stitching the patchworks of us
each blood drop and vessel
monitored by the masts of our own voyages
seeing me on my odysseys
and my pilgrimage of blood and water
as my networks pulse and dry

with my obsidian eyes looking at a grey flag
we must know the harshness of the desert
before we savour on the cup of the oasis.—

silver skulled beast

a silver mouth I wear and a silver mouth encircles me
positively foreign; positively native
a common tongue we speak

a kiss that caught on fire
then melded with an ocean
a foam that broke the shell
and the fragments that became tears

metamorphoses
each cascade on my elbows and calves
kinetic energy; ATP following its path
and my spine polished brighter than ivory
for the blood that clings

rawness is me
flushed are my cheeks
not some decadent shyness
or some tardy aggression
but a fusion of both
my whalebone clavicle
and the geyser of the hearts

prickling on my skin
if you won’t want the animal in me
you cannot merely understand the human.—