Tit for Tat

You broke my heart so

I broke your iPhone in two.

Now how will you live?

Breathe Yourself Out

I respectfully 

Request that your thoughts 

Be said out loud, please

Altar to an Unknown Maiden

You are not, Maiden, crafted from royal bloodlines,

Nor are thy lineages flush with nobility and crest,

Of handpicked suitors and fiancées,

Of those bred with destiny and honor.

 

You have been founded, Maiden, on purer privilege,

Blessed in the lay of the earthen land,

Whose roots in the world’s hearth

Found a home from thy initial breath.

 

Thy fashionings, Maiden, are not ore-laden,

Nor silk-woven or laced at the edge,

For no great wealth backs the homestead,

Thy family fears no robbery.

 

This humble dowry, Maiden, for thy day of joy

Grew out of daily industry so sunned,

Earned under the same light

That gives and pushes forward the ages.

 

As for you, Maiden, the house that holds

Thy entire radiant, beautiful whole

Finds a modest piece of the favor

Given to that Bethlehem stable.

 

No broken loaves or finest wines, Maiden,

Are to be found in thy communion,

Yet the entirety of gifted Creation

Breathes doxology and instructs you to awe.

 

Thy wit and whim, Maiden, examine

For truth and authenticity,

And put to shame the feint,

The show of learned graces.

 

In all fairness, Maiden, you come, bringing

Forth admiration and upright praise,

And thou aim neither to ruin a man

Nor let thyself be quelled or entrapped.

 

Maiden, nature bestowed her highest goodwill

Upon thy spirit-filled figure,

Never has our Lord brought forth

Such lovely, flawless imperfection.

 

Thy lips, Maiden, prove thy splendor in silence,

Pairing with thy prose that often emerges,

Spurning the painted womenfolk

With beauty that fades only as the stars visit.

 

Within thy breast, Maiden, surges thy ardent heart,

Bringing life and passion to a form

That stands, judged to be as skilled

As it is lithe and captivating.

 

In all respect, Maiden, I shall never be rid

Of the debt owed to thy mercies,

For a lifetime will we soon be united,

And thy love unites you to a broken poet.

 

Now, Maiden, as history will try to measure in vain,

And as loved, feared lords wax and wane,

Its esteemed scribes may not ever record true,

For I know the Lord truly finds pride in having created you.

Firing

A spark finds atmosphere,

Inevitable effects still future

As the power is stirred

In a fateful tock of time

 

Burning and consuming,

Mechanical cycle clicks through

Just like the last hundred

Propelling uncatchable bullets

 

The shots keep emerging,

Killing in plain view

The Smokestacks rouse

Tirelessly graying our portrait

If You Must Know

Yes, it’s real gold, ma’am —

And the painting is Renoir.

(Only I am fake)