T. M. Isaac
T. M. Isaac Poems
|1.||Words Are Doomed To Fail||6/5/2015|
|5.||Minutes Of Resentment||11/30/2015|
|9.||Forever Means Nothing:||1/21/2017|
Comments about T. M. Isaac
Perhaps, after all, it's nothing but a ruptured artifice;
A misconstrued prism formed of fractured isms.
It could as well, of-course, be nothing more than art at ease,
A pseudo-lust conceived with nihilism.
The joys of burlap ambrosial virility,
Emit an overwhelming puss-like fragrance,
An encumbrance of prodigal sterility,
Intermixed with virtuous echoes of arid cadence.
The way that tattered paleness is laced with sapphire-blue
seems better suited than the pristine wholeness,
Of scentless skin, oozing with the leaden residue,
Of hallowed ...