Should I

White callous scarring my fingerprints
Peeling away at muscular memory
The smell of brass and mahogany
And the colour purple.
Making chords vocally
Feeling raw and spent.
Opening up a dusty notebook
Flipping it’s pages
Knowing. Simply knowing.
Wondering what it will all look like
Whence I finally decide.


Do I Ever!

Do you ever find yourself
Keeping your house a sty,
In the hopes that it may inspire
You to go outside?

Do you ever wander
From corner to street,
Wishing fervently among bodies
For someone to meet?

Do you ever flutter
Like a skimmer on a pond
In search of moments
That have long since gone?

Do you ever marvel
At the mysterious sky
Sometimes capturing comets
Before they slingshot by?

Do you ever have times
When The Universe decides
To give you synergy and respite
That you’ve long been denied?

6:08 Fire

What is poetry
If not but art?
When mere sentence
And structure of grammar
Do not provide means
Poetry comes in full force.
Without it, emotion becomes…
Words can be homogenizing.
What is poetry,
If not language on fire?
And so,
I emblazon my words, onward.