kayak

dungeon

Something about the corner calls to
me, beckoning with its firm angle, its
innate security, I think.
I am a restless child, a cat, who hides
away secret fears and gives way to the
walls and enjoys the proximity of
their own flesh.

The mess I've created slips and sloshes, powerful
despite my desperate grasp, but
the corner can contain it.
Here I curl and become the world,
a spinning universe gently guided.

He knows I am gone.
He knows the corner is my escape, my space
to flee to, a sturdy hold when
human embrace
is far too much to bear.
A cold, hard punishment; a soft, warm relief.
And I know, I know the corner cradles,
the corner confines, the corner
can do no wrong.
Which is a comfort when I have.

crime

not enough money
no one approves
confusion disrupts convenience
what a shame

i try to imagine
but all i see is too difficult
nothing fits
all is compromise
taking a toll

being wronged
by interests of others
pointedly
willingly
my pain is real but not right
it's a crime

bubble

soapy pockets
kids close behind
i see

hope builds
my juices flow
and pop

fizzy business
boils over to violent rage

inflated by so many pinpricks of nothings
hot, steaming air bursts loose

birch

small step
bright air
crisp light
new day
my embrace
peels away
beautiful, beautiful
somewhere else

art

what i study
what i do
what i enjoy
what i take in
and spit out
what i want to see
what i long to be

the world demands more
but all i have to give
is this my word
take it and run

america

a mixing pot of loners
always the party
how did we get here?
for better or for worse
for greater or for lesser
for richer or for poorer
for pride or for embarrassment
for me or for everyone else
forever or for now
simply home

airbus

i breathe air
i ride the (hate the) bus
skybus perhaps?
Way to rely on the establishments of others for yours to make any sense. Innovate, huh?

agreement

fear to
fear not to
trust

sketch it out
sign the dotted
line up
line out
line crossed
no more

we bicker
we war
we want
from past shatterings
today is broken
of ourselves
faith nothing

undershirt

endocentricity on our way
stacking
nothing new
nothing extreme
but ours

as always, doing all the work and never receiving the glory