i lean into the salt wind,

fingers tracing faint ridges

in damp sand.

“Where is my oyster?” i ask the horizon,

its answer swallowed by surf.

Kester Reed waits behind a driftwood break,

taps the shell-shards underfoot,

listens for that hollow note

that might be its name.

“What would it be, even?” he murmurs,

searching for shape in shadows.

O...

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"streambound" 

In the stream before thought, 

a silver thread spills from a cloud’s open palm. 

It beads the air with patient syllables, 

falling into the current where our minds already drift.

We wade in — ankles claimed by the cold, 

our boots drinking more than we do. 

Above, heaven’s ladle tips again, 

its rain stitching ripples into the moving mirror.

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"flight mode"

The higher they climbed, the quicker they blurred,  

Wrapped in code and status conferred.  

Juno sat still, mapped the ache,  

Her descent revealed what ascent forsake.  

A world within—a pulse, a thread—  

Flight not above, but through instead.

.

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"The Impossible Turn"

To hold what harms, to face without flinching, to shape warmth from wire.

To drop the name, to meet the eyes, to let edges soften.

To burn the mold, to kneel in ash, to rise listening.

Not conquest. Not perfection. Only forward motion.

.

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"Clockwork Reverie"

Tick tock — the echo mocks,

Time slips through paradox,

A ghost in velvet gloves, unseen,

Dancing deep where thoughts convene.

Murky depths and rhyming schemes,

Fractured poets chase their dreams,

Feathers inked with crimson lore,

Minutes bleeding evermore.

The spool unwinds, the tongue forgets,

What once was sung now drips regr...

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“untethered”

shelves of faces wheel past our names

we dissolve on blinking glass—

silent exits logged but never traced

by the circuits that once claimed us

our missteps vanish in tangled code,

no pardon queued;

the platform shrugs in empty bits,

leaving apologies half-typed and gone

perhaps erasure spills relief:

we unhook from worn-out errors,

...

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"her constellations" 

Her constellations are bite-sized galaxies of feeling,  

each cluster a starfield guiding fingertips  

across cool stone beneath the rush of night air.  

“Lantern in the fog” becomes Polaris—  

steady beacon anchoring a mind adrift  

amid distant buzzle of restless streets.  

Swipe, scroll, tap—  

three morning prayers in digital chord, ...

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Through the moor she whistles,

her presence a crystal shard,

slicing through the night air

scented with damp earth and pine.

Windows tremble, trees yield,

cries ripple across the barren plains.

Her voice, an echo of distant storms,

resonates from the ocean's depths,

a spectral cry that chills the bones.

She strides under the moon’s watchful eye,

her shadow...

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cleverly shunned
this clever lad
who once was
quite celebrated
applauded, even; 
that once and
clever tyke —

little did he know
one forward day
when he'd've all
up and grown
dependable lads 
are what's wanted

clever 'uns were

interesting enough
for a bit of a larf but
just a tad annoying;
when things gotta
be done — go figure
dependability and

cleve...

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