Let this
River run dry
If it means
Revealing
Our canvas

From memory
Washed in forever
Whose voice
Is the trickle
Which fades

As madness
Grows where it may
Like a waterfall
Pouring
And reckless

What energies
Brimming with choices
Are oceans
Of talent
We waste

To deter
These moments
That change
All reasons
Life wouldn’t matter

If art were our
Fleeting distinction
Of each person
Broke
Through their chance

As phrases
Fake and ashamed
Or soliloquies
Uttered
For practice

Among crowds
Whose lie
Is attentions
Unreliably fake
At their best

Pretend waves
Will move unnoticed
Like banks
On a shore
Still willing

When efforts
Ripe as their minute
Proves breathing
Fails
Since we laugh

Like a stream
Of time
Never steady
Over rocks
Resembling faces

Beneath channels
Caught between branches
Seeking love
And dirt
As they pass.

– J. Pigno

Dare not
Be afraid
But proceed
With utmost
Caution

As money
Won’t solve
Your problems
But servitude
Actually might

When kneeling
Before our God
Whose existence
Can never
Be proven

Like faith
That worthy gamble
For spending
A life
In fear

Where freedom
Is always just
If the privileged
Few
Should have it

When laziness
Buys you nothing
But the need
To work
Some more

And pleasure
Is always laced
With a pain
That just keeps
Going

Seizing
Each passing moment
From our quick
Yet painful
Death

To show
How love is
Blind
Between these
Open fingers

Peeking
Beyond appearance
Cause beauty
Is still
Skin deep

Watching
How every move
Without rules
But planned
Successes

Is forgetting
Those second chances
Like tomorrow
Will surely
Come.

– J. Pigno

This fate
Of a wounding watch
Is fear of each
Missing moment
From the hand
Which never delivers
On its promise
Of keeping pace

Or an accurate
Change of face
As the hand
Still turns unknowing
While a gear inside
Stays broken
When its wearer
Loses track

As they find
No minute waits
For their losses
Unexpected
And chances
Passing quickly
Where experience
Moves so fast

To savor
Fleeting breaths
That enable
Every feeling
For interims
Gone forever
In the blink
Of tired eyes

Hoping
Some may last
Among brief
And tragic seconds
Like each future
Always baiting
Our true ending
As it comes

From hours
Nearly new
Amid memories
Barely witnessed
Within spans
Of ticking torment
Upon learning
Now is lost

Setting
Empty dates
Without need
For telling stories
As the clock
Is never aging
But our bodies
Somehow do

Believing
Epochs fade
As these flawed
And certain instants
Of endless days
Unmeasured
Only God
Can understand.

– J. Pigno

Relieve
This awful person
From the throne
On which
He reigns

For a chance
To find forgiveness
That redeems
What hurt
He’s caused

As the prince
Of feeling numb
By threat
Of failed
Existence

Upon learning
Kingdoms suffer
When fear
Is his sole
Belief

And rage
That golden rule
Among laws
Which startle
Greatly

Those souls
Who need assistance
To defy
Such vile
Faiths

Like death
His only truth
Where pain
Is still
Insistent

Each symptom
Bears one answer
For questions
He can’t
Face

But assume
His aging role
Is the means
Of finding
Purpose

To gain control
Of waiting
Each day
With final
Breaths

At a castle
Standing still
Between hell
And heaven’s
Illness

Called secrets
So repugnant
Our lives
May never
Learn

How monarchs
Choose their fate
By twist
Of using
Hatred

As leverage
In all conquest
Against
What God
They rage –

Barely
Seeing why
Or agreeing
Time
Is sacred

Before falling
Deep toward slumber
Eternal
As their
Rest,

Golden
Though condemned
Like his
With poorest
Spirit

And heart
So purely hardened
As coins
Which never
Bend

Demanding
Easy reasons
For the gamble
He must
Wager

Facing
Daily judgement
Since proven
To be
Wrong.

– J. Pigno

I fear this
Sudden calmness
Is proof
My faith has
Passed

Leaving me
Nearly empty
Of dreams
No God
Can save

Except for
False relief
Like a dull
And numb
Decision

To exist
As merely idle
In that fierce
But quiet
Place

Where the recess
Of my fate
Holds dark
And missing
Answers

Lying
Through my choices
Convinced
These words
Are true

From a soul
Whose mind
Is blank
Now echoing
Certain wishes

Of what real
And wasted talent
Finds death
Without such
Chance

Removed
Beyond that bliss
Of a note
Old angels
Carry

Singing
Their silent anthem
For this life
I’d barely
Known

Wondering
If my end
Is a fair
Yet easy
Question

Believing
Almost nothing
Is worth
That pain
Expressed.

– J. Pigno

Assume
This tilting wheel
Is a ride
That’s almost
Over

Where its quick
And even motions
Make vomit
Seem
Like spit

When hurling
Through each spin
Or fall
From highest
Places

As I brace
For sudden impact
While scenes
Keep turning
Fast

And believe
That cycle’s change
Is release
From whirling
Notions

Where heights
And steady inclines
Are the thrills
I’ve come
To seek,

So twisted
In their reach
Of absurd
Yet constant
Passage

Around
One central
Focus
That’s bound
To disappoint

If believing
Every twirl
Has fate
For someone
Different

Or hope
To make things
Better
Between each choice
We make –

Still waiting
For our chance
On an end
Which never
Falters

If controlling
Expectations
Is the faith
That’s making
Sense

Before
This rolling
Stops
So the nausea
Fades abruptly

Allowing
Such rotation
As one quick
And last
Hurrah.

– J. Pigno

The world
Below
Is an ocean
Which begs
I drown
Where I walk

Pulling me
Deep
Even further
Despite
What balance
Remains

As dizziness
Claims
My faith
Where pain
Is a water
Relentless

And waves
That symptom
Of sinking
Which questions
My savior
At best

Like Christ
Himself
Upon currents
Still standing
Tall
Over surges

But that’s
Okay
For believers –

I wouldn’t
Swim
If I could.

– J. Pigno

You did it
All on your own
Without one thanks
Or reason

Other than
Staying persistent
For these things
You love the most –

Keeping real
When they’re fake
Finding truth
Where its missing

Seeing life
As it isn’t
And could be
If we all tried

Like you have
In your belief
Of passions
Widely insisted

Are futile
Though being cherished
By communities
Teeming with faith,

The kind of folks
Who claim
Such dreams
Are hardly foolish

If the shoes
Just make them happy
And clothes
Reveal their choice

Of identities
Bold and brash
Creating shapes
Which vary

Across fresh
Yet motley visions
Whose look
Is art as choice

Proving
Most are weak
Unlike men
Who carry

Their need
Within that vision
To create
Outside known lines.

That is
Who you are
My close
And always champion,

A cousin
Friend and mentor
Whose influence
Knows no bounds

And potential
Shatters walls
Where barriers
Aren’t answers

But questions
Losing limits
For this soul
Which conquers bricks

So amazing
In his quest
To denounce
What wrongs are written

Through each stitch
And colorful sweater
From a hand
I know has gifts.

– J. Pigno

Somewhere
In there
Is a person
Pretending
He’s really
Alive.

When the truth
In fact
Is much different –

Sadly,
He’s already
Gone.

Never
A part of
This place,
For the days
And meaning
Escape him

Where faith
Is hardly
His constant

But the pain
Just always
Exists

As a failing
Wish
Which demands
Each hour
Pass
Even slower

Maintaining
Guilt as his
Reason

Without prayer
Or choice
To remain.

Yes,
Such breath
Is a shame
If chance
Is better off
Wasted –

That man
Within
Is a carcass,

And soul
A mirror
He breaks.

– J. Pigno

Real art
Is a finite blessing
Of the truth
Which bears
No point

Other than
Being resistant
To these souls
Who dare not
Test

Their cry
Of broken
Persistence
Faceless
As it is written

In a guise
Of glorious fiction
Beyond sanity
Hope
Or a cure –

One final lie
Off their chest
With failure
Veiled
As its message

So the youngest
Learn
What’s sacred
Like gospels
Scared of their own.

– J. Pigno