untitled, in three parts

part one

scoring the halls of institutions

a childish convergence without question,

rather a tunnel of answers, along the sides

pulling the eyes to a crossroads, in a rush

and a sudden halt


rejection of your ways mirrored

turns you internally

so what is that I’m on about…


cue the crisis, identity clarification comes at a price

at times, worthy, and indulgent, and always the former

then found that – woe, who is me? not nearly enough in a world of tangible dreams

there must be deeper still

beyond a body politic

before the rites of men principally concerned with praise,

rarely the practice


part two

through these phases, I find my poems feel like prayer – recited, though they may be spelt again

in revisiting selves

being, what were, and others,

you may wander upon bridges unfamiliar or

worse: familiar and uncomfortable.

you may find transformation is relative,

not unrelatable


and there for all tethered to it

do not think yourself special, nor weak


part three

it’s been a minute

since I’ve channeled the audacity

to speak admittedly,

you know how heavy that ego be and now

I feel the space to breathe

rising up out of me, from the collective sea,

knowing the tongue in this cheek

how it whips sweet and dark from beneath

the source drips deep