“Demure,” “My Ode to Lovecraft and Dickinson” and “Tomorrow Isn’t All We’ve Ever Known”

“Demure,” “My Ode to Lovecraft and Dickinson” and “Tomorrow Isn’t All We’ve Ever Known”


The rumors ever forever true

our tombs and fate entwine

the looming absinthe pearl

we're hardwired nigh plagued

the minds of the masses now jaded

plugging the hole as crevices swirl

one day we'll displace

likened to lemmings to gorges

not unlike our Big Bang

where Pangaea was a bold home,

where one ocean surrounded


And the horns of demure

devour our chains;

love is the chance

of redeeming or only luck of each draw

cantankerous lines are drawn by us all,

by the guise of astrology with unfiltered chalk

screaming colors flare in, flare in

and flare out

indecisions set-in

battle lines get drawn:

hmmm, war's on the loose

My Ode to Lovecraft and Dickinson

Flash me messages;

then rest like a dying breed

we're more connected than a network of


even seeds are about to grow:


and, they're neonatal

Brandishing nightmare toned

sleepwalk to signify

the debonair pain idol

holding hands with Death again–

reap a soul

or teach me


for I've

curtailed in post

remembering years ago

the cocktailed afterthoughts

Tomorrow Isn’t All We’ve Ever Known

Karma hits like a sword

nipping your flank, chest, muzzle,

and trunk

so kosher as it has been laid out

that we have been subdued,

morals and fables isn't

The preview of each imago

that we seldom submit, you

wish you were a mage

an alabaster, a monarch.

A genie in winged-form.

And even as the beautiful butterfly

Is you.

These spiked cocoons, aren't,

as we're digesting the mercy on an

appetite too shrill for 'Moriarty',

witnessing, some, clutching—

collection plates

too full for tenfold

all middlemen ever seen,

and all the continent's clever clergy

one continent till Pangaea

Is the lessons learned in South Africa.

Tomorrow isn't all we've ever known

today and yesterday is

love and tenement is

remembering Tiananmen is

a pertinent cull, that shalt never Be

About the Author

Justin-Paul Starlin

Justin-Paul Starlin is a poet/writer from Southern California; he has been passionate about writing for the last decade, and his work has been published in Havik Journal 2020, Strange Horizons and in Wingless Dreamer.