004: Ode to error

October shower in May,
a quaint natural echo
to the gravitational pull
of a brewing comedown,
for the historic quandary discards
the scribblings of fools,
leaving a palimpsest of lesions
on ragged shoulders
locked in restless vigil.
I seek a virtual North
following a delusive compass
that only shows the Nadir,
storming inner reaches for an obole
to bribe the drunken helmsman.
The words I loathe to say,
pounding their syllables on my door,
no golden thread available
to sew their lips silent,
a mobster's offer, this bitter cup.

003: Girl with a sprained knee

Be hazard or astral moment,
this bright spark on the radar.
Pin in the pattern tracing graceful lines,
dismal attention span subdued;
jet black irides trapping portals
to potential paradigm shifts.

A gentle move strips the brick mask
to reveal a vibrant canvas
of protruding light in brownian motion,
the basalt backdrop eclipsed by frail marble
bred on cherry blossoms and solar flares.
Advance inexorably to subsequent meek cathexis.

002: Untitled

Moss corona nailed to the victor's shield
carried by children of the wind;
he rests on their shoulders as assumed king, crowned to Hades,
writing erotic literature with stilettos,
the cracked canvas held atop the Everest of his word
for all and none to see.

001: Motel

Come in, sternly wearing consequence,
to white noise and the smell of rain,
cowards and braves waltzing together
to the gift of sleep we all share.

Yet a mosquito looms in baby's room
and God's eyelids keep resting low;
carry on trying to strike a match,
tucked from the trickling monsoon.

Before wings are granted, one last thing to do.