Ocher

I’ve seen great men reduced to orange aprons;
begrudging breaths for their resilience,
garbed in dirt, stammering nonsense,
shuffling along the proletariat rat maze.

I’ve felt repetition’s sting become monotony;
leeching desire, leashing dreams,
offering myopic solace
that bleeds at the periphery.

I’ve worn despondency in self-wrought shackles;
lynching individuality, sowing conformity,
gnawing tirelessly at gilded ambition’s
self-fulfilling prophecy.

Huzzahing Olympus

I felt the pull of your anguish
cementing my shoes
on a one-way ride to
Charon’s decimating kiss.

Somewhere the Nebula’s dream this;
Zeus’ cosmos spouting
plasmic tears
like the jug of ambrosia overflowing.

Up in the mountains,
where the sky kisses cerulean,
they wear nooses as ties—
casual Promethean suffering.

When the bullets can’t be dodged,
lodging in the rough
of your diamond skin;
every shard becomes precipice
to the taunting ovation of ashes.