Ink
Is how I deal
With the fact
This all means
Nothing

When feeling
Oddly empty
Despite
What dream
Insists

How hope
Is nearly fate
As it draws
From senseless
Wishes

And signs
In makeshift
Comforts
Along one’s
Dotted line –

That heartbeat
Slowly paced
Weak
And falling
Victim

To the promise
Vaguely conjured
By breath
Which bears
No name

As truth
Now given grace
Through agony
Made
Of reason

Where faith
And human wisdom
Accept
But can’t
Deny

Those papers
Stealing words
For crimes
Of lost
Distinction

Ending
As we’re always
Expiring
With our
Thoughts,

For pain
Is living virtue
From a hand
That’s merely
Written

Of the hard
And fleeting nature
Bound
With captive
Choice.

Forget
This whole
Charade –

Our cry
Is best
Unspoken.

My contract
Should be
Ripped.

I think
I’ve seen
Enough.

– J. Pigno

“You can’t live
Your life
With the lights off”
Is what my
Mother told me,

But what
If that bulb
Suspended
Has blown its fuse
Too fast?

Like pain
Which leaves me dark
And reminds me
God’s not
Waiting,

For a switch
Up there
In heaven
Can’t turn this lamp
Back on

Or brighten
All my ills
And reveal
Some hidden
Answer

Where currents
Cease
Their function
When power
Is facing fear

Near sockets
Left exposed
Begging
These nervous
Fingers

To replace
Each broken fixture
By using
My hand
Instead.

Electricity
Isn’t brilliance
But rather
A useful
Danger

Applied
As something luminous
Whether seized
Or fatally
Charged.

– J. Pigno

Hello
I’m a self-loathing male
Of which I deserve
Your deep hatred
For I’ve spent
My life
Disappointing
All the women
Who loved me
The most

Running away
When I’m scared
Rather
Than seeking
Their guidance
Or accepting truth
In those comments
Which prove
How my ego
Was bruised

Kissing
Then fleeing
The scene
Yet panicking quick
When I’m lonely
Seeking embrace
From a partner
Just to realize
My passion
Is dead

Empty
From fearing
The best
Of what this life
Has created
As a dreadful
Lie of exposure
Where feelings
Can signal
The end

Our cycle
Of intimate sin
Fortunate now
To be certain
That desire
From tangible
Instinct
Is a physical
Need
We pursue

Making it
No less
Wrong
Abandoning hurt
By rejection
And ignoring
Hearts
Staying open
Though judged
Superficially still –

Cause really
It’s always
Men
Using looks
As excuses
Or believing
Rage
Is a constant
Born of pasts
They create

As I struggle
To sleep
Every night
Engaging God
Seeking penance
Imploring Christ
For an answer
And hearing
Him whisper
I’m wrong.

– J. Pigno

In fact
It was always
Simple
This plan we seem
To destroy

With our need
For achieving
Something
Other than what
Should exist

Innately
As it is made
From ether
Unknown
To insistence

Of standards
Imposed
By creatures
Subject to will
Of their God –

That ease
Of inspiring
Ripples
Cast without
Intervention

Across
Such space
Everlasting
Beyond what fate
We redeem,

Incurring
Countless debts
As there are
New stars
Born among us

Finding truth
In their brightness
As we navigate
Dust
Over time

Imagining
Destiny waits
Where emptiness
Pines
For forgiveness

Forgetting
This cosmos suffers
Each moment
We waste
On success.

– J. Pigno

Draw from me
This life
Which hardly begs
To question
What root
Is your intention
And determines
Fate in hand

Yet carries
Precious flow
Like grace through drops
Cascading
Down bark
So parched when waiting
For rain
Such presence makes –

Your moisture
Seeding earth
With feeling
Harsh but fickle
While syrup
Bleeds off timber
Where agony
Tastes as sweet

Forgetting
Pleasure hurts
Off branches
Thick with bristles
Obscuring suns
Above me
From gifts
Of precious waste,

Falling
Oddly near
As their fruit
Of daily beatings
Is a joy
Called being punished
Based on
Weather’s mood

For I merely
Long to keep
This truth
Which towers demons
High as dreams
Relentless
Weeping loves
Once lost

Showering
Dangerous lies
Upon
Our seasons missing
Each day
We dare to blossom
As long as trees
Can stand.

– J. Pigno

My pride
Just can’t admit
To the joys
Of being
Complacent

With an ease
I deem
Unnerving
For anything good
Which waits

And arise
As miracles
Should
When evading work
Intended

By God
In his transient
Heaven
Where energies fade
As they must

Like hope
Now passing by
Enjoying
Such moments
Wasted

Avoiding deeds
Unworthy
Of the effort
It takes
To dream

And pursue
Our fates unknown
To the spite
Of invisible
Pages

Among answers
Scripted lightly
Through authors
Begging
Their clocks

For respite
From these hands
As memories
Scribbled
In margins

Show forever tasks
Unnoticed
In this struggle
Of cyclical
Days

Like searching hard
For sport
Just to spit
In the face
Of reason

Arguing
Something wagered
Is never
A payoff
Gained.

– J. Pigno

My fear
Is an act of
Constriction
Becoming
What hope
I have left

To end
Such hurt
Prematurely
By the cutting
Of blood
From my soul,

Redeeming veins
That are
Crunched
And narrowed
When losing
Conviction

Behind
These muscles
Swollen
Which sustain
What faith
Doesn’t flow

By a sudden
But dangerous
Change
Where arteries
Crushed
Cannot question

Or betray
One’s heart
As the vessel
For believing
Love
Still exists.

– J. Pigno

Just like that
They’re gone
These words
Which were my
Pillars

Bearing down
On metals
Bent
At weakened
Knees

Like steel
That’s not so
Tough
With feelings
Inconsistent

From passions
Burning greatly
Where emotion
Makes
Its mark

As floors
May seek collapse
When anger
Grows
Like fire

Within
Each tallest building
Of dangers
Meant
To break

Lasting
For our sins
Until
Those needs
Are vanquished

By destruction
Once deliberate
So the fall
Can claim
My voice,

Empty
Though confused
As smoke
Pours out
From windows

Obscured
Like what
Comes after
These flames
Are long put out.

Foundations
Left unearthed
Still prove
By fractured
Remnants

How footings
Just can’t handle
That I’ve nothing
Left
To say.

– J. Pigno

I hear
From your empty room
Those sounds
Of the saddest
Sleep –

A stirring
Of rigid linens
In darkness
Bold
And hushed,

Where screaming
Breaks with noise
This silence
Smashed
Like crystal

What rest
Is hardly peaceful
Where fear
And nightmares
Dwell.

As I listen
Down that hall
From my bed
A tomb
Of mourning

To calls
Behind each
Doorway
Of whispers
Told at night

So candles
Lit with prayers
Bear flames
Of dancing
Shadows

On walls
Aglow with phantoms
Like ghosts
And formless
Shapes –

Among
Our brightest
Days
Held inside
That fire

Projected
Into darkness
Through light
Which piereces
Black

Recalling
Times well spent
Amidst
These quiet
Echoes

And reasons
Worth believing
My tears
Bring certain
Haunts.

– J. Pigno

What about
Those boys
Whose hurt is
Merely guidance
In lieu of
Absent mothers
Where fathers
Pick up slack

Believing
Nothing hurts
As long as
Feelings swallowed
Are answers
To their pressures
When denying
Sadness builds

Agreeing
Bouncing balls
Can rid them
Of this silence
To suffer pain
So lonely
On cold and angry
Streets

Beating
Desperate means
With fists
Into submission
Assuming kids
More fragile
Are targets
Worth their grief

Near courts
Of asphalt dreams
With hoops held high
Elusive
Like survival
Leaving winning
The only answer
Making sense

Excluded
From these friends
By fear
Of being needy
Afraid to
Hug or kiss them
Or say that
Love is real

As men
Teach other males
Frailty
Is some sickness
And trait
Left just for women
Which embodies
What they fear

Resenting
Female ways
Like laws of heart
Made certain
Through action
Showing kindness
Is far from
Being weak.

– J. Pigno