Attrition
Is natural entropy
And agony
Lacking forgiveness
For the sake
Of prepared excuses
When appearing sincere
Before God

Highlighting
Truths of our lies
Throughout this plight
Of conviction
Rendered weak
From believing
Such easiness
Failure sustains –

What diminishes hearts
As we chain
Or chase these means
Across shackles
Like romance
Shunned by decision
Where lovers are sins
That we claim.

No, I am barely
Obsessed
With developing hurt
As it festers
Beyond this reach
Of redemption
Which betrays my soul
Though I fall

Farther
Into relief
While avoiding blood
Without penance
At the source
Of inspired angers
Reddened by hope
Gone unfound –

Scapegoats
Biding my days
Counting scars
Towards forever
Amassing guilt
Nearly flawless
So the hemorrhage inside
Doesn’t stop.

– J. Pigno

No great
Star-crossed love
In this sea of
Forever what-ifs
Just the changing
Tune of indifference
Set to a lonely
Dissonant jazz

Where daydreams
Call my bluff
And soften blows
With wishes
I cling to
While I’m crashing
When pillows
Grow their arms

Like fictions
Kept intact
For survival
Of this heartbeat
Which longs to seek
Its rhythms
In sync
Beneath these sheets

By gifts
Of restful sleep
As the hands
Of sweetest poisons
Pour syrups
Swallowed weakly
From the spoons
Of angels real

Tonics
Dry and flat
With a hint
Of aging flavors
Purported
To be medicine
For the souls who drink
No wine

Bitter
As staunch belief
Uncorked
From bottles waiting
Among stones
And cobwebs nestled
Within barrels
Built of fear

Cellars
Cold yet damp
Mindscapes
Missing sunlight
And tragedy
Through this silence
Of my bedroom
Dark and dull

How direction
Has no chance
For its line
To be distinguished
Like notes
Of vying players
In a band
Without one voice.

– J. Pigno

Things
Might be
Alright

But no
They’re never
Quite easy,

For I’d learn
This now
Before winning

Because failing
Isn’t always
A chore –

Sometimes
It’s what
We need

To value
That gift
Of each moment

Where triumph
Is often
Reclusive

Behind
Such cover
Of clouds.

Even when
Losing
Our faith

Just to witness
Skies
Being opened

Like curtains
Of doubt
Falling gently

With answers
In rain
Coming through.

So follow
Your heart
As a guide

And remember
To censor
That critic –

Our mind
Comes second
To passion

And the world
Even further
Than doubt.

– J. Pigno

I’ve got
One lousy hand
To pen this
Fearless sentence
From the mouth
Of broken answers
Which runs
Right through
My soul

Jumping
Through these hoops
Like dogs
Of trained expression
While words
Which spell disaster
Seek shelter
From its
Grip –

How synonyms
Leave their mark
As basic scars
Of changing
What incorrect
Nouns of circumstance
Manage
To take their
Risk

Making things
Just right
And never far
From framing
Identity
Within format
Of pageantry
Born
Of schools

Not a message
Best conveyed
By a reject
Made exclusive
By profession
Of his devices
Which wither
Away
At bones

Whittling
Tiny shapes
Drawn like bars
In margins
So the verbs that chase
Each spirit
Break free
From chains
At last

While sacrifice
Often begins
As it stifles
Flow of lefties
Or “queers”
Who write
Indignant
On opposite sides
Of the page

Praying
Change admits
How deviance
Ushers acceptance
Even when
Slight variation
Brings subtle
But certain
Shifts

Through experience
Some admit
Or confess
How wisdom
Is garnered
By enduring
Excess abuses
Of adversity
Claiming its stake

Discovering
Harsher names
Each time their mind
Progresses
Toward limits
Once thought dangerous
To leaders
Who think
Inside lines

Bizarre
Yet quite unfit
For the world
To deem
Outstanding
As a notion
Hung for daring
What questions
Perfect script.

– J. Pigno

I discovered him
Up and walking
After dusk
On the beach
Among stars

Wandering paths
Below moonlight
As he followed
That beacon
Back home

Claiming
These eyes of God
Were watching
At ends
Of those breakers

Where waves
Crested gently
Finding
Their peace
Between rocks

Crashing
On unknown sands
From currents
Now missing
Direction

Beneath skies
So darkly mysterious
Each wind
Meant losing
Our way –

Tracing
The midnight hymns
Of angels
Abandoned
To silence

As we ran
Through trails
Amidst quiet
Of a blackness
Thicker than death

With heaviness
Choking us fast
Upon hearts
Like weight
Of assurance

How divinity
Beckoned
Our presence
That evening
We traveled alone

Deep
Into woods
Behind stores
Far enough still
To shine dimly

Obscuring the face
Of those figures
He swore
Were then saving
His life.

To this day
Sometimes I think
Christ
Had called him
Discretely,

Leaving his room
For our journey
Which lead us
Straight
To that shore

And the forest
Sunless
Yet clear
Brimming with voice
Lacking witness –

No evidence
Of whispers or miracles
But the impact
They had
On our lives.

– J. Pigno