Daniel Y. Biography

emotion
condensed into a paste
smothered onto buttered toast
giving life a taste
...

The gargoyle frowned with his permanent face
and scuffed at the birds perched on his carapace
Even more he despised the humans below
causing a ruckus and a clamorous row.
...

You are a mystery to me,
God my lover,
the poet with velvet hands
and a heart like a war-drum.
...

I found a little poem
crying on the floor
whose dark-chocolate eyes were filled with tears
whose center was cleanly torn
...

The pencil just sat there.
Not being chewed, or sharpened.
Not on the verge of a great novel.
Unused. Unnecessary.
...