As far as echoes go

I suspect I write for the same reason
a whale sings a song
(more than mating call)

I wish we had sonar or echo-location.

I guess few to none understand
me either-a bit of a riddle

I sense something more
than words can trap temporarily
always around, like sound.

I comprehend not wanting to know-
ergo-filling space with empty waste.

I wonder where others
put their excess words?

I feel we all have them,
a medium waiting to be heard
largely by you
alone
without a pod
in the abyss.

All of our words salt the sea
with trace minerals
of meaning and glimmers to glean.


Photo By Rwendland (Own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

The Count of Poiesis

Should you meet me in the day
-Be Warned-
Under the glaring sunlit lamp
I am grotesque, in the worst light.
I avoid my reflection in hindsight
and it rejects me back.

They still say vampires
once dwelt in caves
nearby, while I dwelt
while growing up.

The solar alarm sounds
strong to vowels, soft with consonance;
sensitive in all tenses, and thirsty.
-Be Wary-
my dreamy stranger-
under the open atria of night,
we are both tied to the ticks
of blood-sucking time.
Transfusing our eternity away,
craving the sap of the skylark.

Composed 10/10/15.

Image by Philip Burne-Jones [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons, Le Vampire, c. 1897.