Do words matter

Do words matter?

construed symbols plated
on cold stone etched in
meaning telling tales of
feelings ripe and faded

Do words matter?

Mama crying, boy singing
pain inscribed in the mind
self expression yearning
for aperture to others’souls

Do words matter?

History fading, worlds warring
people forgetting deeds mistaken
caveman hieroglyphs retarding
from a world without meaning

Do words matter?

Internet’s awaken
words pixelating
people drifting
world ending

Do words matter?

Mind yearning
for meaning beyond meaning
worlds destroying
man’s undertaking

Do words matter?

Symbols adrift
meaning interlaced
Comparison unfound
Senseless sensations

Do words matter?

Writer’s dilemma
warping the mind
in madness storylines
vying for existence

Do words matter?

Spider’s web
slinging minds

Do words matter?

Writer’s pain
raining brain drain
at knife’s tip

Do words matter?

yearning stretching
hands of reason
blessing heads of

Do words matter?

At moment when words
don’t matter then
death shall come for
the brain in the matter

Do words matter?


My pen

My pen bleeds for laden thoughts
My pen bleeds for unanswered questions
My pen bleeds and doesn’t stop
My pen is my word, my mouth, my fingers

My pen doubts itself
My pen doubts its worth
My pen doubts the people around it
My pen doubts its world

My pen wants to write
My pen wants to bite
My pen wants to bleed
My pen wants to need

My pen reminisces
of days when words mattered
days when words filled the sky
days when words soared so high

My pen is hungry
hungry for the blood of reason
My pen is hungry
Hungry for more

My pen won’t stop bleeding
till I bleed out
My pen is mad
clad with secrets of the gods

My pen longs for you
to give it credit
My pen longs for you
to save your soul


What if

What if the words were just to flow
from my fingertips like honey from the comb?

What if writing were a curse
and not a blessing?

What if people misunderstood writers?

What if there’s no such thing as writer?

What if What if What if

What if writing had different forms?

What if writing has a shape, a name?

What if writers are untrue to themselves?

What is writing?

Is there writing without freedom?

Is writing more than mere words?

Is writing life?

Are writers weak or strong?

What do people think about writers?

What do you think about writers?

Do writers waste their time writing?

And what had they better do else?


“Baby, how does this feel?” I ask, smiling as I hold her hands.

“It feels great, hon, I can’t believe it,” she says, smiling too.

“Yes, babe, I feel like ant-man,” I say, grinning hard.


She closes her eyes and draws in a deep breath. She opens them back and smiles at me, a kind of smile I haven’t seen in a long while. Her smile lifts my soul. I want to kiss her here and now. I want to make love to her on the keyboard.

She heaves up and starts dancing about. I smile in response and join her. We keep jumping on keys and watching as they appear on the screen. I feel so good right now. I draw her close and I plant a kiss on her lips, our dim reflection on the bright screen. This is a great place to be, and I could be here forever. With her I don’t feel tiny anymore. We could write stories together. With her I never want to grow big, we are cute like this on the giant keyboard.

“I love you, babe,” I say, as I look into her eyes.

“I love you too,” she replies.

Continue reading “LOVE ON THE KEYBOARD”


Oh sweet sweet sadness
Why art thou bereft
What torments you so
What be-lingers thy sweet face
What putrefies thy goosey skin

Oh sweet sweet she
why art thou sullen
what threatens thy beauty
what ladens thy gaiety
what oscillates thy mood

oh such sweetness
what dampens your soul
what draws at your spirit
where art thy dewiness
where art thy childlikeness

Oh sweet divine
I kneel at thy aura
Have me now, you must
Oh, I’d die if you don’t
Oh sweet sweet sadness