Potential Values Solved

Impossible emptying my head
of every bent phrase…

The misshapen past crooked and crass
–unrepentant lunar lit boyhood errant
I against your shallow affect denial
(my own story you dare edit or silence
because every unacknowledged event
is one erased or forgotten in one’s mind
rewritten much the same as the victor’s
history wherein holocausts go unmentioned
–genocides omitted as societal footsteps
trample over unmarked mass graves).
A rebellion true not with fists cruel
rather my mind unleashed brutal.

Nights when I wrestle and writhe an angel
unidentified who outmatches my every
until at last my wrath is exhausted
and all that’s left is a soul
the same as yours I invoke
in terms valid and universal.

Youthful poems written by virility alone,
bold manliness familiar as common
stupidity raging its beastly Whitman
“yawp” against a metronome muscle
sinew-strung deep in my chest’s fortitude
keeping time by what emotions summon.

Such odd, inexplicable lust–an ache
true and bodily for those untouched pages
yet named and roamed as realms
found among wild flora and fauna
untamed and verdant as Eden.

Every face and voice and deed
kind, genuine, true and hideous
collected strange as shadows
fallen from objects invisible…

Stoic prayers slowly aged dormant
all my hours of astral devotion.

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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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