homeward/bound to the kennel

as a mourner #27 4/12/26

with gentle hands, i will lay you to rest
along with all the flowers that are dying--
it will be ceremonial & with grace.

do not disturb the dying.

in worship, i return #28 4/12/26

agitated; my legs will not stay still
but i sing anyways-- celebrating
the peace long gone.

i was raised to be serene,
to meditate and to revere the
teachings of those before me.
so i know that i am meant
to be there.

flowers swaying in the
soft breeze-- it is unlike me
to want to return,
but someday i know that
i will become devout.

above the heavens, &
beneath the earth,

i alone am the world-honored one.

the only way to slaughter #29 4/12/26

that which is shed tends to stain;
these sins will linger--
even perfumed skin and wine
cannot rub out your transgressions.

you are so convinced that to love
is to be violent. that these hands
are only good for desecration--
any purity, regardless of divinity,
is sacrilege. all acts of malefaction
are done in with benevolent intentions;
to be painted as a savior, not the executioner.

so, in the "ultimate act of sacrifice",
you will pour out all the passion within.
the rage between your ribs and the
clouded phantasm in embedded in your gums
can simply be let out upon the snow.

soon, it will be time
to latch the fangs that your father gave you
into the prey that you have dressed
in fine satin, unblemished.

and do not worry about staining it--
these icicles will turn ruby red,
so you can lay your side against them,
to relieve the pain. and as you know,
our favorite color is the kind that
runs inside--

passionate & in oblation.

kept in prayer #30 4/13/26

pious; with dainty feet and
keratin bit back. hands clasped
& vines wrapped around my arms,
thorns digging into the skin.

this blood will run down their stalks,
fed into the flowers-- so when they bloom,
they will be in gory brilliance.

done in reverence; this pain can be washed
away-- the sting will only last for a moment.
well, as long as you take a breath
and brace yourself for the damnation of humanity.

the torture in waiting #31 4/13/26

these hands are meant to kill-- / rough grasp and jagged fangs, / i was born a destructor, / & it is me who says / that i will grow to become / what i was meant to be. / so i will never escape what was weaved for me-- / predestined, as it were. / the thread has already been measured, /now it is the purgatory of / waiting for it to be cut. / to be liberated of the title / executioner.

born of soil\\to be dried #32 4/14/26

the heat will not last forever;
clouds form & make way for
the chill to set deep into
cartilage & bloodstream.

as a child of autumn, i forsake the cold
that dulls my vibrant hues and kills
what remains of the beauty,
but at the same time i am still escaping
the deterioration of the blazing sun
that seems to have no end &
no beginning.

it just so happens to be there &
we all worship the benevolence
that it grants us.

idolized in youth #33 4/15/26

something in me tells me that i
will never ascend past how
accomplished i was at 5.

ahead of the curve,
they said that he was an untapped
genius of some manner-- so beautifully
wondrous at all things he did.

and still, i am laggard and
isolated, desolate & destitute
at my desk-- the saturation of life
is all but gone for someone like me.

there is no "naptime" or "snack"--
no respite, no rest for the wicked,
and the only requiem that is sung
is for the waste of talent, not the
loss of ambition.

fanged creatures #34 4/16/26

to be loathed is to be loved;
my hatred that i let soak into
the grass, the poison that
is ego-- will come back to bite me someday,
this is what they call karma.

& he will shine like the sun #35 4/17/26

(i am) so afraid that i will never become
something greater than what i was
when i was 5; someone more accomplished
& decorated than a so-called
child-genius.

to be so ahead of the curve--
they said that he was some form of untapped
genius, a star child, born to be so bright
that one day he will outshine our sun.

yes, this is our son. we raised him with
just the right amount of gentleness &
isolation; he is perfectly parts imaginative
& sagacious to become ever-radiant.

we left him to his own devices to find out
for himself what all the others
found so wondrous about him-- sat in front
of the tv while we did our part in raising him;
satiating our desires vicariously in our
heaven-sent prodigy. what a spectacle he may be
when he comes fully into fruition.

& yet, i do not feel so revered.
grown further than five, i have become
so laggard, in both my desolation & destitution.

bound to the bed-- the saturation of life
is all but gone for someone like me.
so bleak for hopeless souls,
burnt out & no will to live any longer.

all the awards are growing dusty with age
and this gift of god is now fallen, wings snapped--
but still projected with the hopes that
the worshippers had before, & so i must listen
to them and play the savior.

the only requiem that is sung
is for the waste of talent, not the
loss of ambition. so i am left to my lonesome
all the same as the child who read his
books & played with cars, alone in his room.

of maternal love #36 4/18/26

these gentle hands will caress your wounds,
so do not worry. though bloodied,
i will rub sugar deep into the flesh
so that you needn't hurt any longer.

that is what you are supposed to do,
right?

i have never been known for subtlety
nor serenity. i am not some mother
or martyr-- simply a mutt in the
body of a caregiver-- trying its hardest
to pass off as a semblance of
humanity.

i've never been good at this kind of thing.
raised to be apathetic to others but
still sensitive to their pain-- i'm not even
sure if the sweetening of the gash is helping,
it'll hurt anyway, right?

so, these hands were never meant to care--
they were meant to kill. i've known it since
birth. i always grip a little too hard and
i choke the flowers as they bloom.

i am still left hoping that canids
can be rehabilitated.

lucid dreamers say that the worst part is the paralysis #37 4/19/26

you know as well as i do
that everything sad is untrue;
to be loved is to be in denial
of the clouds that hide
the sunset.

so we lie back
in perfect rest.

maternal instinct #38 4/20/26

i hope that this laggard, sluggish pace of mine
never inhibits the children i wish to have.

depression of a mother, and if i keep portraying
myself as one, then soon enough i will
bear a child as lackluster as i am.

maybe they too will burn out in a blaze
of burning impassivity.

i never really ate "superfoods" #39 4/21/26

i will spoon-feed you what i believe
to be called a "miracle supplement".
something effortlessly full of all the
nutrition you could ever need, so that
you will never have to eat again.

like me, my child, i know you are
unhungry for whatever the next meal is.
in fact, you probably share my dread--
a mother's instinct is stronger than anything else,
no? so don't mind the metallic tang
that you feel in the back of your throat.

that just means it's working.

swallow it down until you can't
feel your stomach acid clinging
to the lining-- then you know
that you've absorbed the best part.

the painkiller.

beauty is pain & there is pain in beauty.

the sunlight that falls through canopies #40 4/22/26

eyes glazed over against the glossy
fountain of life-- i am so close to
resplendency, i can feel the air
in my lungs thawing the chill
that lingers-- but still so far
from what i truly long for.

i have been stuck at this so-called
epitome of fanciful bliss for
what could either be twenty-five days
or twenty-five centuries-- the
chain is kept rust-free by the water
so there truly is no way to escape.

i think, at some point, i gave up.
the scars around my neck have healed and
it has been a while since i have retched
and keeled. there is no reason to fight
the unescapable, no matter how stubborn
you are.

one day, i hope to regain just enough
hope to roll over the side of the marble
and submit myself to the incandescence
that beckons me to its embrace--
whether that is to drown or to renew--
i am not sure.