Literary as hell.
children love riding them i am part of the game too
but i’m trying to be a bit more civil
i have a megalodon jaw but i only ever touch potato
we are devices that rotate like the hands of a clock
its face only as wide as earth i wonder if i will live long enough
to survive Continue reading
The snow lies
in tarnished piles
of moonlight
pushed aside from
sidewalk and step
you prepared this exit
light drowning from your window
leaving me to wander
the poor brick
of the neighbourhood
for all this uprooted winter
had I not been captive
to mysterious seductions
I might still walk lightly
on pure snow.
Photo by Brian Michael Barbeito
Brain rocked dry spell,
this green fist
recovering, finger
joints swelled
plush flesh and hair
overly
mortared
with supposed despair
negative words
followed by shakes, caught
sitting through night
until red daybreak
catches itself up
and yellows to work.
Rain hangs
misting silent live oaks,
leaves dropping on trucks
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