Adrift, bereft,
a stellar rock
eternally falling
into the seething void,
blind and many-voiced,
summoning that mantra
from hadean memory,
‘εγω ειμι ουτις’.


Roiling ink
aimlessly drifts above.
Falling under the inchoate sea,
a lost neuronaut drowns,


No clever kenning can veil a worthless wordsmith.

Machina ex Caelorum

Lightning-white pixels birth him from his midnight lies, his newborn screams unheard over the thunder and panic. Photo-negative silhouettes urge him to escape. He disappears under a rain of ash.


You hoarders of riches.
As you sit comfortable and warm,
the poor sleep in the trash,


My dim eyes
look to the listless clouds,
waiting for someone to come and crash
into this downcast faith
and save me.


with my hand extended,
stars collapsed under the weight of time.
Forgotten bones reaching
turned to dust.


He wanders the bridge in fading, fogthick twilight. Wooden, risking rot. He’s taken this path nightly and he doesn’t know any safer. Mist pressing down, he is chilled from his head to his heart to his bones. The lamps along the bridge dim away, their glow faint beneath the heavy shroud. He is alone. Wordless orators begin their call, convincing in their atavistic authority. He looks into the waters, where doubt and dread cling.

Dark Era

War and Light,
a base pair dyad
dancing upward together.
The catastrophe will come,
all things peaceful and dark.
and still they remain,
their love in diaspora.


Recent eternities have comprised the ontological struggle between Ares and athanatistic Akhlys, her forms myriad, her weapons subtle.


Dusk came at seven.
It seemed a deep thing,
brazen gold fires burning
under scarlet heavens.

(I stood in wonder, starlit,
knowing you saw it too.)

We waited out the night,
constellations dimmer,
the cold of onset winter
siphoning their light.

(Our desperate breaths
pained for the morning.)

Daylight soon danced
over your face, aflame,
dawn leading the way
from our bitter past.

(You managed to survive
what seemed endless.)

But I still see dark skies,
and as much as I fight
to escape this midnight,
my sun just won’t rise.

Six or Seven

Six or seven drinks.

That’s enough, I think,
to sink into a hard sleep
before I even reach the sheets.
Heavy, numb feet
take me through scenes
that fold and crease
together like reams of paper
twisted at the seams.
Things I forgot still cling,
like streetlight memories
playing on repeat,
never to cease
or let me have peace.
There must be some retreat,
a Lethean cheat
to break out of sync,
to end the looping dreams
and feel complete.


I’m still awake?

Make it seven or eight.

Yet Again

Oh please, why can’t I wake? I run tremble shiver shake, no escape from this cruel dreaming. My heart is seizing in its bleeding reflection upon that fleeting feeling of treasured time thrown aside. Were we really once friends? Was that a truth you bent and twisted to your whim, or was it a lie to get under my skin with the cold knife of dread and din? You got what you wanted in the end and left me a little more broken, trust stolen and alone, yet again.


I step on in to their shindig of cataclysmic sin,
bloody din quickened under whining sirens.

Stifled shouts fry and flash infinite in the fission,
splitting atoms from their sceptres as I topple titans.

Adam’s Ghosts

Our name is Adam and our heart dried,
as we prayed for this, our day of hate,
that we may have release from this shame.
We beckon him, please, to close his eyes,
so we may loosen this polished,
this lightning steel from our right side.
And with pin, and with empty chamber,
our murderer faced his own graceless fate,
and died with these haunted ghosts of mine.


A waste,
a viral infection
that needs to hide its face.
Their taunts,
that forever haunt,
the vaccine.
It becomes routine,
so unseen
that it’s now the way I think,
the air I breathe,
the truth and fate,
the self-fulfilled hate
I choke on as I seek a way to escape.
Each tidal wave
becomes a task to make
a dry mask to fake
my way around you (for your sake).
And just as the ocean throes
start to leave me cold,
pulled to sea alone,
with no way home,
daybreak cracks
and light comes back.
A sigh of relief,
of release,
as the glow, the heat,
drives away the crushing deep.


I need a sign, a dream,
something to see,
to make me believe,
this was meant for me.


The beast crawled up from the sea, writhing, unbleeding,
a serpentine thing of fevered dreams.

One man’s words echo, ringing,
his hush a crushing guillotine to the baneful machine.


Behind the depths of limitless seas, the sun is still and small. I tread under the weight of endless rain, cold light sinking behind the earthen edge. The waters swallow me entirely.

Shortly Before Dawn

Snowflakes fall across our eyes,
stardust against the moonless sky.
This vaporous night, earth clutching high.

Fervor at my side, so kind.
Twin homespun trains drifting light.
Nine brisk butterflies land so precise.


Errant hopes undone.
Melancholy rending.
Daytime blessings.
Evening falls asudden.
Terrible coming darkness.
Sages exposed the risk.
Oracles warned of this.
Heat first burns farthest.
Galaxies erupt with violence.
Unfastened stars winding.
Outside all is blinding.
Yet another ghostly silence.

Fading Light

Black swirls white.
Day gives way to night.
Heavy eyes
Lose their sight.

Talk to shades.
Words and friends terribly vague.
Getting late.
Time to wake.


The air whips.
It cuffs around my wrists.
I can only enjoy these blue skies,
because I know the ground
will kill me.


That thing climbed from the sulfuric deep, up the mountain of crushed up dreams, blackened ash devoured by glinting teeth. Bones whipped by flinted wire retreat into unlit crypts, hiding from its eldritch heat, its terrors that make ghosts of concrete speak: ‘No one asked for this. Please slay this beast.’


From black clouds,
his bow lets lightning flash,
in cacophony of wind and flame.
Burning throne heats august
northern storms.

Don’t Look Back

Do you ever wonder if you hadn’t gone minimalist in those moments you’ve missed? The chances now gone, the doors locked, the shades drawn. That other life, you’re convinced, it must’ve been such bliss.

Or maybe it rolls into a hurricane, the wind sharp and flaying, sea foam spraying, an endless hiss rising from an eternal infernal abyss. In those moments instead of risk you chose silence.

Maybe you need this.


Glowing super bright,
all the broken pieces are
moving in new ways.