Ferdinando Paparella

Habitual nightmares
birth
somniphobic tendencies.
Unable to wake
...

Waiting
For the next
bag of lies.
He can't afford
...

I walk a seemingly familiar path
Getting closer to the answers
but
farther from the truth.
...

...

Cold is the man that perspires loneliness
and bleeds
uncertainty.
...

When rays of truth fall on bodies of lies
shadows are born out of chaos.

My shadow is impressive; Impervious to night
...

She is a lethal narcotic:
The sexiest stimulant. The most deceptive depressant.
I am a victim of addiction.
Her absence is the kink in my morphine drip.
...

Take me there.

Where the wind plays a heavenly hymn
with a harp strung from angel hair.
...

What once was the trunk
of a wise weeping willow
is now a withered page of paper
stained with the blood of an illiterate poet.
...

The Space Age Poet
carries a contagious complexity
that contaminates the canvas
he created so carefully
...

Flat screen televisions intensify the
image in high definition to satisfy
the minds of Ritalin children who once
were partial to the penwork of poets
...

Plastic swipes of magnetic stripes
will wipe dry blood drained
from the veins of those responsible
for the death of change
...

...

Futile facts spew from
the face of a professor
too smart for his own good
...

Piercing blue iris belong to she
who gets me high and sets me free
from the fire that kindles raw kerosene
clockwork heartburn Set. Match. Inferno
...

Have you ever climbed so high
you were scared to look down?
But you did anyway?
And it took your breath away.
...

Another day spills into night;
a tall glass of rain to put out the light.
Smothering darkness seen from afar
chokes out the sky thats pinned to the stars.
...

I can't fly
but I can
get lifted
with thoughts that
...