If It Could Be So Strange
If it could be so strange,
To be taken at a glance, a whiff, a taste,
Only as a being made of fallen petals and metals I'm allergic to
So that I could be touched by nothing I am allowed.
Allowing a sight of liquid sunlight
foreign senses not belonging to me
nor my neighbor.
I am waiting,
I am wondering,
What does it feel like to be
held atop the cliffs not so steep to kill but to maim nonetheless...
Wondering who has held me?
In the eyes of the one to find their way to my very cells,
they find a home in my deepest wells of self.The What If’s of an Empty Head
So fulfilled in knowing a thing about Nothing
and how easy she is to coerce,
how hard you'll have to beg for her to stay.
Monochrome in neutrals,
mediocre meditations and greeting cards,
commercially available.
She is a dedication in the spaces unobserved and only whispered about,
places to tread carefully, tread innocently through.
Step back through the threshold as if the door were missing
by something sinister,
A devastating and all encompassing disaster
leaving Nothing.
Come back when it's safe to do so.Cans and Can-knots
The voice coming through this end is unrecognizable.
The ends are tied but too loosely.
A decorative thing where function was needed.
The cups fall but do not break.
No shattering of self consciousness among the many who so desperately try to reach out through this disconnected line.
A fortunate thing to be left with four limbs that can.
Five digits on each that can knot.
A six leaf clover among those who measure up to half.
And a seventh to tell you that half is more than enough.
Garden Variety
Saturated with interest in many
packages I open unwarranted.
Box one a clue,
box two a secret,
box three an indication of More.
Weightless and naked to my prying eyes.
Names I adopt for a moment,
folded on axes we've not thought of,
I morph and in flight I see More.
