Sunrises are romantic and soft

Late October mornings feel like arms around my waist

The early sky whispers in my ears

All the answers to reflections I question

I wondered if this cloud knew

Sunsets are passionate and wild

Like a caress on the neck

Something more than a bite on the lip

The night wind chills my skin

Just like the trails of a lover’s finger nails as they pull me in

I bet the moon feels our secrets

I see the crows like to watch

I know the wolves can hear me sing

And my lover chants to the owls for mercy

I will not choose the universe’s sunrises or sunsets

That perfect seventh hour found me

And I intend to be fair

I remember that need

Waking up to morning dew on the skin

Feels like love

Which is the most righteous sin

By Keota Picou

Photo Source



The Daily Posts Dubious

A ha! If there is one word to describe my actions it would be dubious. Such as believing the sweet nothings of the rolling stone variety. At the moment, I laugh at myself for being so idiotic. But it isn’t funny at all, is it? I feel it’s a bit too early to pour myself some Black Magic Rum. Either way, I have to explore it at this point. Me, dubious as I continued to walk through his door. Him, dubious as he looked in the mirror. But that never stopped a lie. 

I should’ve charged. Thieves lose hands every night. He’s probably laughing hysterically- belly filled with poison devoured from tongues. There I tore the pages and ate them. There is no more soreness. Some shiny apples are rotten at the core. Little girls better grow up and learn. Savagery and low vibes hide high. But boomerangs continue to deliver. Deep within the marrow he knows..

That his mask will either melt or mold. And both are most certainly the heart break he gave generously.

Photography by E.J. Bellocq

Barter With Me

I’ll give you two cents

      If you can tell me what my deal is

We can trade our laughs

      And sign the seal with codes in oath

You may want to consider

      Whether you hold strength in your 


      Are only letters if you fear them

But I know you fear yourself

       A mastery of who

You have no zipper left

      Therefore each notch owns you

I will give you a dime

      Your words are perfect tens

Who cares if we’re right or wrong

      Who corrects minds through lineage
By Keota P

A Bomb Drops

I saw a bomb drop during an afternoon in an eastern country (I’m not sure where I was. Could’ve been America. But I had the string direction of East). It was a clear sky, I think I saw a water tower nearby. What ever it was, it was white and stood high into the sky. It seemed to he an industrial town or near a work site but strangely I also saw a rural town and the city not far ahead. As soon as I saw the mushroom cloud rise, I woke up. The wheel keeps turning.

Open Facades (I)

Everything is so beautiful now. I had a taste of myself. I embraced potential. I owned up to strength. Everything is so beautiful now. My trials were heaven sent. Death stood at my door- warned me thrice. Slicing away verboten habits. Self harm with a few cups of disrespect- down it burned black to ash. I will not reject myself. I will not reject myself. I will not reject myself. The she in me ripped my ribs apart. It had to happen. I kept fighting. I lost. I lost it all for me.
Call Me Phoenix

Baron Samedi Rum

(In honor. What a fine feeling of One. Joyful days and joyful nights.) 

Here he comes. So I dip my finger into this glass of rum. I wonder if this man will skin me slowly. Or will he fake it to relate. Just as the hunters call for the game. I’m looking forward to being a meal. I just might be a masochist. I want to feel his pain. 

And since he behaves like a bull, I should wear red. He always stares as if I’ll be the last one. But I am just waiting to be choked.

I wonder how he found me. Aggression peeled back is hunger. This may be balance. Our eyes say, “Let’s fight.”

Rum to rum, a heated expression. And for some deep reason, I aim to learn a lesson. I can’t breathe. On my breasts there is pressure. So I let his rum coat.

His claws dig deeper. My hand grows weak. So I know I need to squeeze his throat. I guess I couldn’t help the take over. He breaks glass. So I carve his sins into his back. Burning pages and melted gold. Who would know how this will go?


The Daily Post – Dancing

May I please have a beat? Just a few of your honesty. And may I please rest my feet on our rocky start laid in front of me. Did you get my message? I left it there in a back bend of emotions. A literal back bend I gave you. One you held without devotion. Back then I wondered how could we make it to the stage. How could I dance with you while unlaced? Where will we go to find our justice? And what if I take a bow to your untruths. What if I dance with some one else? And what if we dance as I dance with you?

I enjoy the cologne of an alpha’s unrest. I enjoy the pounding of hearts out of dress. Here I am, toes on a cold floor as I come down on bended knees. I am happy that I danced with you. I am happy that I was imperfectly me.