where may i
find fun?
how will i know when
i’m young
again?
will i go to
bed hungry?
won’t you draw
my bath?
i hear the footsteps
and know a
hug is
near
and there’s nothing
real to fear.
shadow play
first bite of sandwich-
I’m full,
next sip of cola-
the glass
spills,
not at my best
these days-
parked in a rest stop
counting
greys.
if you fled with all
your flavors
i’d miss each
taste,
and were you to vanish
i’d die in search
of your
trace.
waiting for
a sun-like smile
to burn through
my teeth,
bracing for
a heart shaped cloud
to burst and
deplete.
i miss
cds..
and lyric sheets
with coffee
stains,
i miss when you
came like
fresh
rain,
oh, to spin
that mix
one more
time.
it was backwards
in time
we stripped the clock
down to its
gears–
to tinker with
a heart
too cracked to
beat again.
give me a
shot,
you may
be disappointed–
but never underappreciated
for the living
mystery
you are.
tell the sleeping
a dream
that may haunt
me awake–
and keep my wits
alert enough
to catch its
meaning,
sheltered beneath
fractured
wing
rests
a fragile
quivering thing,
knows not own
strength–
nor that it’s
been seen
by every other
passing
being.
when my faith isn’t
as strong
as i’ve let
on,
i slither down
ladders
into lakes
of my own making
to bask for longer
than is healthy
for someone craving
something
real.
hands in the garden 
You must be logged in to post a comment.