Problem

Arry was an almost-person
he would insist, having no one,
not even himself, to talk to.
Possessing a job, but never
a real position. Just a person
there, but not worth reaching.

I wondered
if this was just his way
of ascending himself.
A way to pedestal
loserdom.


Written for #vss365 on Twitter.

Smaller

A half-hidden path
for the faces
that memory turned
away. Barely a glow
Dwells in the darkness
Of trees as the figures
Move beneath echoless
ceiling. A voice comes
in from the stars,
but it disfigures itself
in the branches.
And the path grows
unseen, night’s room
loses entrance.


Below is the original version which I posted on Twitter for #FromOneLine.

A half-hidden path
for the faces
that memory lost.
Barely a glow dwells
in the trees
as the figures move
beneath echoless
ceiling. A voice comes
in from the stars,
disfigures itself
in the branches.
And the path grows
unseen, night’s room
loses entrance.

Fossilized

Another segment of God
snatched to the present
where a mind entombs
itself with a past.
The eyes thicken
into amber, shadowing
some lost chunk
of universe. But there is
nothing that this mind
can decipher. Just a being
lost in its own day.


Written for #vssnature on Twitter.

Love’s Place

She slithered
from its dream,
moved away
from the dark
hands of its room,
moving from hallway
to hallway.
But she couldn’t find
him. Yet the voice
was there in murmurs
of picture frames.
She soon found
another room, empty,
and coiled into night.

Leaving

Lay your eyes to the center
of yet another horizon
which speaks again
with the same note
of sky. Every time you see
the clouds mean nothing.
The birds fail to build
a bridge and just tumble
to solipsistic flight.
The sun has been
pocketed into grey air.
Maybe you can fancy
this sight into formation,
but you don’t want to.
You’re no longer
an artist, maybe a string
ringing with boredom.
The horizon sits at you,
a stone that fixes a glare
as silence steps through
your bones. You close
away and the moment
washes the air
of another departure.

Beyond Freedom

The other day they tore the sky
And up came the portrait of you.
The stars went away. The sun couldn’t
Compete with the submission of eyes.
And they were forgotten, replaced
By your face that almost reaches
To pet our tiny heads. But your skin
That isn’t there is above us.
The mind of your painted flesh
Doesn’t regard us–that’s what
Draws us into being. Back then
We were formless and free
Beneath the absent stare
Of blue air. Now we are haved.

A New Life

From this seed, I was born
without parents, without
names. A pale sprout
from the ground, the sun
crowding my new face.

Plucked me, placed in
a small cup of earth.
Thick shadow sitting
above. No touch
of rain. Sun seems
smaller too in its square
of sky.


Written for #FromOneLine on Twitter.

In Sadness

A prison of tears
Was not sufficient enough.
Too splishy-splashy,
The walls always fell
Into an unwelcome pool
Never deep enough.

A cage of heartache.
I escaped quite easily.

A dungeon of nightmare
Was a bit worse. Images
Of your face and school tests
Marched the halls. Screams
Of myself in the other cells.
But I dreamed my way out,
Learning this was dream.
My hand turned to a nail file
And the bars frailed
And snapped, flung myself
Across a green earth
Embraced by the arms
Of a sky without a face.

Tired and bored, they shuttled
Me out the door, told me
To enjoy the remains.
Prisonless, I wandered
To this and that field,
To this and that sun,
Saw this and that building,
Almost got hit by a car.
No one saw me. No one came
And pressed flowers to my chest.
Rubbery limbs strolling down
The concrete, not searching
For a purpose in the alleyways
Or in curbside debris.
Just a thing barely seeing.
Decided to go back.

They welcomed me to a new room.
Made of sheetrock not made
Of sorrow. A bed not made
Of scars. Disappointing.

Peaceful Reading

There is no more poetry,
Just lines.
Lines that comfort.
Lines that you can relate to
As you sip next to a tree.
Soft lines.
But they are already forgotten.
A lovely air in your mouth
That leaves you as you rejoin
The day which looks the same.
There is no more poetry,
Just things said that are nice
And don’t wish to elevate,
Just things you are glad
You can understand
And nothing more.