Posted in poetry


I am ice
A solid block of one cubic meter frozen
Hard, slamming down against obstinately
Dry sand in the sunless water-vapor day.

Down – and
Grains jump and stick and drop,
Glass beads in blue and shiny red,
Chattering with unknowable mirth.

Friends, like me
are ice, soaking softly down and disappearing
Some not so well, but managing.
They gleam at me with glossy gesture as frosty chips fly away.

They know. I will
Shatter into widths of twenty microns
Much too small to glitter in the
Sunless burning day, or scratch the sand, or move, or melt.

Posted in poetry


gaping gasping fish, dripping
occasionally over mediocre
show me how pretty you are.
mucus eyes roll blindly up
to see if they appreciate you,
jump back up, strike a
pose in the whipping air.
where things are shiny
pearls put to use
gold and watercolor,
crystal sounds.
I wasn’t made for sound
and singing, and cameras,
and laughter
and laughter that urges me on.

Posted in poetry


My friend.
My most
Wonderful, beautiful
Friend. I love her,
(Less than she deserves.

My friend! She is
A brown-eyed bee,
A metaphysicist. The
Devastating edge of a solar flare.
Twenty billion blistering neurons
Warm as a crackling smile.

I don’t understand numbers.

I tag along, a lumpen piece of
Broken machinery, built from
Anti-climax and double-helices,
Mirrors that shattered.

She’s a muse in oils on a cathedral wall,
Glowing at me. I glitter it back in
Fractals. I tremble in terror when she is
Silent. She could
Annihilate me at a word.
She is kind.)

She is kind.


(this is my own damn blog and I’m allowed a bad poem sometimes.)

Posted in poetry



The loom of sleep rests softly in the air,

Thy eyes are blackly smudged across thy cheek.

The dreamy light will glitter in thy hair,

The silver sound will murmur as we speak.


The soft of silence curls contentedly,

Our words no more than aimless musing whim,

Our fingers twine together idly,

My breath is soft against thy sleepy skin.


Our world is where I wish that we could stay,

The darkness safe and soft beneath our bones.

Will we live long enough to feel the day?

When sunrise comes, will I still be alone?


How long can my heart hold its leaden cargo?

Will you be here, if not today, tomorrow?


I used the (rather dusty) poetry-writing part of my brain a little bit today. Iambic pentameter is actually pretty fun to write in once you get the hang of it. I suppose this isn’t my usual content, but damnit, it’s my blog and I shall post what I like.