Coup de Grace (2008)

We, being part you, part me,
sprouted from the most peculiar of seeds--
          and we ain't even a tree;
          we be buds of unity.
Simple, quaint, like wheat on a prairie--
          the wind rustles our stalks as we tarry;
          there is no stillness in being carried.
No.
No.
That won't do.

We, being part me, part you,
have never been two,
          have always been one--
          no divisible sum...
No mathematical equation,
          not even the math of Om,
          could fathom our particle acceleration.
There,
that's better.
O! thank heaven for letters!

©2008 RA

Spoken, Not Stirred

Spoken, but not heard.
Broken without words.
Loud is a burden,
yet outbursts work.

Quiet, not silent, I
speak without violence--
a sigh lost to high winds.

And if I rage, an inner Ape
breaks free of the page--
straight desecrates
the Sacred Sage's
humble space.

So goes the destiny
of a soul solely sensitive--
inside a human density.

My jaw is slack and open,
outpouring no commotion;
instead, a sign is posted--
and I come into focus.

©2008 RA

Kindly and Gently

I stutter and stumble these words that I mumble.
Before I speak, what I hear in mind sounds sweet--
yet out the words leak as thick and dumb as mud.
What for must I utter such utter crud?

You, so lackadaisy in your feminine ways;
and I, energized and muttering frenetic lines.
I look to the night when words are not lost in translation--
and we both babble in conversation.

©2008 RA

Common Scents

There is no attachment in a bad habit:
the scent of a woman is oh-so tragic.

I scratch and sniff, and grasp for magic;
the stars turn out, only to sadly vanish.

©2008 RA