The growing need to wake up & create
Her stockings laid gently
over the ornate partition
Sacred vulnerabilities shared
Poetic affirmations after discarding
the bland tropes
All sins must return to the sea
Unplugging from the mainframe
Remaining forever off the grid
Don’t need their connections
Don’t know if we ever truly did
The final tragic hero of a modern culture
The soul survivor of a discarded revolution
Histories & experience outside the norm
Dreams of freedom with divine attribution
Dealing with the conceits of perfection
The concepts of loneliness & betrayal
This world isn’t what we were promised
Token hints lost behind a fractured veil
The answers are hidden beyond this life
It may look bleak, but don’t you fret
We have the Source of Light
& they’re still riding that ol’ dialup internet
Drinking black coffee out of Delta cups
The cheap seats listening to Empire Burlesque
Mixed metaphors crawling in the night
Still pondering why a raven is like a writing desk
Dislodged tea parties & cries of Nevermore
The world swiftly swirling all around me
Reducing myself into my words
Hiding now within punctuation & necessity
Unsure of our place in time
Triangulations are stretch marks on the soul
Society wants me to be all shiny
But more often than not, I’m tired & dull
Where do we find our inspirations
The formulations upon our existence
Personalities discarded to the rubbish pile
Pushing us further away within time & distance
Discounting the overland wages
Discarded notions of an empty word
Dripping coffee on innocently blank pages
Drudging toward all the invocations misheard
My fetish is powerful women
Standing proud in front of a crowd
Holding court with authenticity
Firmly entrenched without having to get loud
Mesmerized by the way she carries herself
Controlling me with a compassionate glance
She’s my incandescent muse
My reason for believing in happenstance
She’s regal without being out of touch
Properly expressing how it feels to be real
But I know she’s never going to give in
No matter our depravities, she will never kneel
Containing the ability to remain soft & lovely
While always making me hard
She can be inconvenient to worship
Not a plot point, won’t let you simply discard
Who am I to say no?
When she asks me to open up for the Queen
I’m the victim of my own volition
But I love it all, if you know what I mean
Quiet practice of language
Where saints lay desecrated
Discarded words & their meanings
Grizzled by dreams we’ve created
Continuing on is our only option
In spite of our demon’s desires
Internal resolve beats steadily
Rising once more; trial by fire
Hiding discarded notes in a shoebox
A back-catalog of creativity to mend
Offering our souls to be consumed
& an apology if we might offend
My desk lies cluttered with discarded notes
Scattered among my life’s rejected missives
Scorched earth beneath my words
Burnt before anyone can become dismissive
Captain Q 