You left me with no choice
With scattered lines of treacherous poems, riddled in excess, waiting for more
I’ve landed within grounds, fertile and bold
Manageable halls, turning, to boundless wombs
And my thought is still lost in you

Fragments with no image, sound, just raw remembrance
Your fragrance, and my love, make knots
In stomachs, bound to underworlds
You, bring fire

Finding you, taking back what is left of me in eyes
And bringing you with me, rising

Or drowning in flames because of
But I cannot remain

Scatter your own upon me, gently
As you come with me
Lifted, or,
we, the descendants

of bliss

Published by Kevin J

I think I write to try to explain moments that I don't truly understand. That's why I have a tendency to be wordy. The closer I am to minimalism, the better off I am. I also do it to keep records of what I was thinking at certain periods of time, so some kind of footsteps are left showing me how I got here. Looking back, it seems inevitable that I am where I am now; couldn't have been anywhere else. I don't have any goals for the future, except for trying to enjoy it. I'm the opposite of most people I know; I no longer want to know what is coming up next. I just want to create the road and ride, or not create it and ride anyway.

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  1. Kevin J


  1. kevin j,
    sharply written. great flow. verbal pazzaz! as in your bio: to write about what you don’t understand is a way to work it all out, and grow. delightful poem. yours, will

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