Category Poetry

suddenly, solid as a second chance,
asking me to unseal his sand art kit.

As I walk through a collective field of souls I wonder what there is to gain

To their ears it’s a nuisance, but to mine, it’s a comfort

it seems to be
a fuzzy rat
cycling
with pizza
to the street corner
apple tree

So I shall arise
And return
To my mother's house.
Unrepentant.

I am my own tapeworm, stuck inside myself.

elongated shadows on the periphery of sunset panoramas, anonymous

The film wrapped. His visa expired, but he remained by faking a British accent and taking a job under the table

every day break the sludge:
caffeine, wine, rapping

A touch of yellow sets off the light
on my forehead, where hair doesn’t cast a shadow.