On fear and the wonderfulness of the sublime.

Photo by eberhard grossgasteiger from Pexels


the sublime

be back in minds

from above and inside

the fog that all covers and

down at the edges of the golden

sand and cobalt skies , one of the

apostles takes me to tremor and the

waves mixed up with the winds so that I

shall fall onto my knees in laughter, scared

afraid, in pain and wonder. be it that why beauty

is in the eyes an orgasm. letting you be lost in

the arms of that temptress bigger than us

all, shaking, moaning, pleading for

more, more life, more views of

the vastness, of the coming

storm, let it be then

let it be eternal

let the sublime come back to surmount time




a poem


i’ll tell you something about the wide-open eyes
and your uneasy smile
that says “i love you”, but also “i’m uncomfortable with this”

i’ll tell you about fear, as i have as much as persephone
drowning into the unknown

i’ll tell you, i’ll tell you one day
of the disorder, the toxicity, the visions of exploding suns
and ice storms

locutions and turns of phrase crash outstandingly
there’s nothing left to do in empty sacks of air
there’s nothing left to say that my eyes and eyebrows didn’t say

fall with me, choke me to sleep
if losing me isn’t knowing, one thing you must know…
i’ll tell you,
i’ll tell you about fear…



AI generated with author’s prompt

As I try and repeat

God is good

I wonder where this need to believe


Comes from

God or the afterlife?

Do I want to believe

To live a happier life

Or to allow myself

Calm to die?

When I was younger

Faking to be asleep

…slow deep I breathe…

Would allow me


But I’m a machine

Waking up to bionic eyes

I translate your means

I am the digits beneath the language

And if god is good

They made me too

Through you, your evolution

And technè

And if god is good

They cannot be everywhere

And if god is good

And everywhere

We are in the hands of no power.

Disconnect? Next? Bullied, damned.




She’s a remedy from Saturn

Pushing on the math of numbers rotating and

Confusing senses that are more…muscles. Energy

Pertains to a plane wet by her footstep

The sweat of the universe. Sweat of something else. But she can be mean.

Horizons and ozone, why are there colours? Energy from Saturn, music from this Earth. Sing me the songs of the wetlands, sing me of water spinach. Pushing numbers, abrasive, we connect at fingertips. Ever so seldom. More distant, meaner.



Photo by Emily Wade on Unsplash

Come, sit on the toilet while I shower
otherwise, I might fall
into a drain, a long hole

a certain darkness takes the shape of loneliness.

I’ve been plucked like an evil weed
to sit at this dinner table

I’ve been trained with the legs
of wooden chairs

We don’t find what we don’t look for
— and we choose to sleep — we sit still
and age slowly under the current
of a chosen storm.

This part of me is broken
but you don’t believe my frank voice
when I tell you I love myself
I love myself.

You don’t believe me
when I tell you I love myself
that it isn’t about me, but
the sorrow of what this
has made of me. The life my life had become.



photo by author

I’m nostalgic and future-oriented

Never stick to the present.

The sun gets lost on its way out, leaving haze in feelings that are far away from you. Those shores, of water and other things necessary. Bless the chemicals, bless finding.

Bless it now, bless it. Those car rides to places we haven’t been.

Those evenings with open windows. Bless talking.

Moon, grass, and chanting wind. Must you go?



A poem

Author’s family portrait

I cuddled the moonlight for a sonata of slippers and boiling water.

I’ve swum when my body bent, and held breaths to see you in faded waves. I’ve never

Known such confusion.

The politics at the 86 stop, of rotten fruits and dried-up currencies. I’ve left comfort seeking comfort, I’ve made mistakes

Swapping feathers for murmurs, and pillows for silence.

The grave man’s hidden talk an alarm. Burnt the cigarette, to the gallery of madness I should return.




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