Modernist Poetry 

Inhale. 

Exhale. 

Watch the smoke dissipate with the wind

And my self preservation with it

— Smoke 

Shut up 

He murmurs 

As he climbs inside her body

Cruelly 

With love 

Like silencing a child before delivering shots

The beauty of roses are their thorns

So prick your fingers and enjoy the pain 

One last time

—Shut Up 

Tilting his head to the sky

Eyes closed 

Ever breathing deeper

Enjoying sensations of life

Warmth radiating 

onto burnt umber skin

He smiles

Radiating from within 

--Enjoy it

Trees murmur

Secrets to one another

Our riddles 

Truths 

Lies 

Dispel our misconstrued candor 

Wind breathes softly 

Chattering ever quivering leaves

Listening to whispers

Our susurrate 

Of falsifying belief 

— Our Lies