Stride and Respite

This is my first attempt at writing poetry and thus writing.

I walk in an erotic disposition:

My third eye, furthermore the poet’s third eye,

Is the shaft.

It spurts out venture and pathos which only pierces

Through that which gapes painfully.

 

I walk with a stellar distinction

Like the erotic, it airs itself with confidence;

Imagination proceeds its essence,

From there all else is meaningless.

All else is a curious quagmire.

 

Then isolation sits in a baneish seat

I sit next to it, very solemnly

It makes me the object of its love.

--How forthcoming

--How curious, curiously flaccid.

Author's Note

Critique would be greatly appreciated and would be responded to with reciprocation.