Dream house
Behold them glimmering:
the gates of Somnia
which swing open under
the Night and the Darkness.
Welcome my dear friends
to the land of opportunity
where all of your desires
flower among the Poppy.
Page 12 of 16
Dear Diary
Today I posted something on the internet again
and all my friends laughed
and hit the “like” button
except for the fakes and haters
who reblogged it with mean comments
about how I should leave my parents basement
and go outside and get a tan
but they’re just jealous
of how awesome I am.
After the thundercrack
You’re so bold:
like a raven in the night;
like a candle out of sight.
You’re so cold:
like the shadow of a life;
like the flashing of a knife.
Quality Conversations
One evening I met God
on a bench by the bubbling river
which divided the town.
And I asked him a question,
the most important one I could think of:
“What’s your favorite burrito?”
He seemed startled by it,
maybe even so far as off-put,
and he asked me “Why?”
I replied simply,
“Because no one else would ask you this
and perhaps you want to share.”
The Forgotten
What is Jane Doe’s maiden name?
Who is this woman of mystery
who left home and hearth to follow John
into the dark of an unknown future?
Who was the bright girl behind this cold woman?
Who remains to remember her?
Who remains to care?
Cualacino
Warm is the home
whose tables bear marks
from cold glasses.
Cold is the home
whose furniture lacks
any laugh lines.
Pena Ajena
Go away.
Do not approach me,
do not talk to me,
don’t even look at me.
It’s enough
to have watched you fall
but I’ll not face you
ignorant of your sins.
Pochemuchka
Why do you never remark on
how much I flub and flounder
when you queue such querulous quips in moments
where only a few minutes of mindfulness
would ease the ache attached to one’s soul
which strains itself with such graspings that one
can barely breathe while deigning to deliver
what answers one is able to arrive upon.
Gigil
Oh, how that creaseless smile
strums my heartstrings
and tugs at my memory.
I reach out to touch that joy,
and revel in remembrance
of golden days gone by.
Meraki
My gaze discerns the nature
of beauty lying within
a deceptive container.
My hands are shaking
yet still act with courage
to draw forth the hidden.
My throaty whispered words
breathe a meaningful truth
which animates newborn figures.
A (wise) man of two faces 