unprogressive speeding

we were speeding,
yet not making progress,
still unable to go anywhere
in particular.

we find ourselves wedged
in the reverberation
of a recent distant memory.

Lingering moments like this
sear like a lover’s stolen kiss.

for a moment we burn mad,
and in another, the blankness
of the universe engulfs us.

Perhaps it was satisfaction…
Could it be?

Have we really superseded
these moments of abandon?

Have we actually neared climax,
the understanding of ourselves
as reflected in each others’ eyes?

Have we?

I doubt it.
I so doubt it.


in ashes resaved

What manner of pride is this,
that my affections should abate
from mine husband sweet,
until breath is but a struggle
and every hearbeat is less than a whisper.

O, what folly it is to commit against You
the prostitution of the heart,
where love is smeared with thrusts
of passions unsuccumbed.

Aye! It is in knowing
that I am most condemned,
decreed guilty of desituting
our wedding bed.

For it is not in my loins,
but in my heart
that I am most found wanting
in this affair.

Love, Love, Love that burns within me,
burn through me
that I may be in ashes
reformed and resaved.

of fantasies

I never outgrew my childhood fantasies.
I guess we never really do.
In moments where Life throws hell in your way, you realize it is these fantasies that actually keep you going. We live in dreams we’ve made up where nothing ever gets messed up, where friendships are as supportive and cracked up as ever, where love is never complicated only exhaustive, and where reality do not clash with faith.
I’ve created in my mind a world of endless possibilities – where possibilities are only as limited as my consciousness. Unconsciousness is only the end product of exhaustion caused by love and by the insanity of friendship.
Allow me this moment of truth: I am 24 (almost 25, counting the months before my birthday), and I still live in the boundaries of my fantasies.
I am no fairy or princess or mermaid. I am just me, in which me is more significant than I am right now. I may not have powers or earths to dominate, nor do I have the wealth or power of the world. I do have, however, the minutest wonder of the universe right inside me.
Yes, listen to it beat inside me… Can you hear it? That is the physical manifestation of my insanity.

the grave of my mind

the grave
of my mind
is pitless;
its imagination
the stink
of a thousand fairies
in cough syrup.
the act
of writing
is me
from the tip
of a pen
and landing
in coffee grounds
by unremembered dreams – –
the aftershock?
the perpetual climax
of the unshared passion
of strangers.