mastering stillness

time slows, deepens
a lifetime of dreams and colours
floats and drifts
between the soft balloons
of reality


I am a bird


I prowl and scrape
my skin, searching
for a single feather;
any avian feature
to prove to you
that I am a bird
with hollow bones,
born to a sky beyond
my reach


your eyes flicker like a trapped
butterfly trying to take flight
you breath quickens,
your dreams still the muscles
in your body and the more
you struggle to wake the heavier
you sink
and reality
stretches, melts,
shutters into an impossible climb;
each step you take
brings you closer to perfection
just one more step and you’ll be there


I fell asleep counting

the many tomorrow’s,

solving and unsovling a

nonexistent equation;

weaving and unweaving

a never-ending dream;

waiting and unwaiting

at the edge of my world

for the brim of your shadow.

Inspired by “Destination Moon” by The Dining Room. This version on Youtube is slightly different than the one I have, but it’s the same song. 🙂


Piano chords hung from

philosopher’s clouds, high

above ground. Pendulous,

searching , breathless and waiting

for the right psionic connection,

the momentous spark, the proper

amount of obstinacy, slender

fingers of exact, wanted length,

and bone marrows made of

pure musicality. Once

they had chosen their target after

thorough deliberation they

would free


upon their mutual consensus

like shooting stars, descend and


onto the artist’s heart-field with

meticulous precision, followed by

explosions of

spilled light, coming alive,

immediate immortalizations

of fast drumming keys and everlasting

crescendos, sacrosanct melodies

stretching skyward into the depth

of the universe, interwoven, seamless,

worlds united, overlapped, becoming




Dear Miss Grammar

Words. Mispilled.

Modifiers dangling at the

wrong places, having stared too long

into your turquoise eyes

The sparkles in them fall

into my run-on sentences of deliberation

like punctuations; little commas

with an attitude that divides my manhood

and stubborn periods

that keep everything

I say and do  in line.


You don’t need to control my words

You’re on my mind, in my heart,

down to the bottom of my soul,

across from my sight like a phantom,

all about me and all the way through me


This is what you do best

These subtle distortions

of a man’s prepositions


This is what you do best

The forceful reduction

Of  a man’s expression

to mere adjectives for your existence


And you, being always plural,

will never agree to be the subject of my romance

for I, being perpetually single due to my

pathetic inability to talk to beautiful girls,

I am the lame verb in the wrong tense

with taped retro glasses and jeans that are

so last-century-ago, without the sizzle


That is why in English,

a sentence’s subject is never changed

for the sake of the verb

for it is definite, written in stone,

while the verb, so meagre and hopelessly in love

suspends his life with the decisions you make.


I have a tendency

To live life like a dream

I sprinkle the little things around me with sundust

So they sparkle.


At times

They blind me and I get lost easily

Because my vision is spilled with light

And I blame myself for poetizing.


But I say to myself…

Why all the screamin’, the hatin’, the cryin’?

You’re just being who you are.


Perhaps I’m just that kind of person

I live my life while dreamin, dancin’

Singin’, imaginin’

And poemin’


So…I tell myself

I shouldn’t so harsh on me.

I should…embrace this part of me

Because despite how hard I tried

It’s how I live and it’s how I love


I should just remind myself from time to time

To dream cautiously and

Even if I fall

The dreams I held

Can still be beautiful.


By Kim. T