Rediscovered “Cheat Sheet” For That One Class In The Humanities

Your heartbeat pulses against
your grace filled throat as a lamb
lined up in a row when the spring
wind is blood scented and flowers
are faint–mild, bee thrummed, delicate
beneath the harsh metallic flavor
that makes your mind swirl with fear.

Your lissome femininity never
so admirable and desirable as now:
your arteries tumescent and turbulent
unto each oxygen rich tributary
that floods your roseate flesh
with an inviolate yes.

I love you Eurydice…
memorably dying beneath a harsh summer sun
after the unnamed serpent’s acerbic poison
seeped mercury-quick into your blue veins
and when the moon rose over Thrace,
your last tears dried on your cheeks
–dew that evaporates from petals
once pink and red and now pale–
I found you there in the underworld
and sang for beauty’s release,
sang for your salvation…

But that’s all a painful memory
like the knife sharp scent of my blood
troublesome it lay ripe upon this air
that turns steadily warm and fair
as the equinox soon returns.

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Phillip Quotient

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i'm a 42 year old writer and have spent the last two decades sifting through books in a variety of libraries all across the southern United States while writing poems, stories and novels and am only now standing at that precipice where i'm willing to share my work with the world. my single greatest fear with regard to writing is that what i've penned would waste someone's precious time.
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