"Last Resorts" a poem

Last resorts

In seasons we are, little but ourselves straining our strangers through mirrors, and emerging again, as neat shards of retractable dust. We poof, we pout, we paint. And still we end up looking the same, at the legends of same, in the blood of same, from the heartbreak of same. Sometimes the nights move into days before we have the[…]

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Timeless Dissent

Sanity cannot have meaning       not as subject, nor as experience. Insanity, at least, secured better references       along the course of history. Gender, as subject matter, fed the monster       of revolt by making logic out of nothing. If not geometric, our love stories belie reality. And since angles exist in matter,       love must have form and thus equation. Cracked open, love[…]

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