Category: Poetry

broken men crawled down the wires that weave that were woven labyrinthine overhead bloated shadows of yesterday’s dream dissolving until there are only wisps of what was i had taken it all for granted and now the canopy of wires and wasn’t-wasses blocked out the miserly sun time to pause, to tear down, to rebuild,…

do you think that my father ever wanted to wear a frilly summer dress and pirouette through the fields with the birds and the butterflies? he was a big man towering at six and a third feet and greeted as the buddha incarnate by children in china but maybe inside of him was a fragile…

So algebra is not aligned to taste: A bunch of letters dancing without need. You find the dancers nothing but a waste? My friend, some words on this you ought to heed: We start with adding, just as shepherds did To count their flocks when sent to fields by day. Subtraction’s just some adding being…

fate’s fickle finger is cold gray steel filled with hot white pus angry and impotent: it is its impotence that makes it angry makes it flash across the sky makes it rain down blood like hot lava in the fading day this is the sunset tonight, the white man in the moon will gaze down…

Mindful of the road, I Make my way forward, still Melancholy, still quiet… Muddied in still waters, Muddled with clarity. Might another false step Matter? I cannot say. — ptkh 06.03.18

i want to write my flesh and stretch the words slowly out along the curls of vapor escaping my lungs i want to write my flesh and let it seize upon my sinews until they snap and scream and leave my muscles sore i want to write my flesh on leaves of slate and crystal…

This voice says: Shut up. This voice says that nobody wants to hear from another broken white man. This voice says that there are people who suffer more than you, people who face obstacles so large that you can’t even imagine it. This voice says there have been enough white men talking. It’s time to…

sometimes words do not have the expanse to fit the truth they’re trying to hold i am an apostate i am not the first the streetlights that dimly guide my way are lit by the souls of those who went before the furtive glow and the long shadows belie the keening inside their bulbs behind…

the first time i saw a naked female breast i was ten years old or so i had thrown a dictionary at a girl’s head in third grade although i don’t remember that (a piece of paper i found years later said it so it must be true) i was labeled ‘emotionally impaired’ which nobody…

i dreamed a car crash, and my fingers burned with the sensate nothing that seared over me i could not scream because i had lost the right, and as the world melted around me torn and shorn in glass, metal, rubber burning in black flame and circling overhead then into my lungs i thought for…