Poetry

Plucking electric wire

Eyes flick side to side, ticking their way through the hours.

Cheeks aglow

facing another way,

taste buds tasting buds sickeningly sweet.

Toughening the scales: use them to shield a heart.

 

Following up the path, a memory’s ghost.

A waste bin of paper, each sheet

etched with all that you are

and a hundred ‘might have been’s’.

Poetry

The Number Games: May the odds be in your favour

I’m thinking of a number –

no, not that one –

it’s a bit more edgy,

higher too.

So four?

Not quite, try another.

Six then.

Oh, come on now, you

can do better than that.

I said edgy.

Fine, thirteen then.

No, no, no.

Half a triangle more like.

A triangle?

Is this even about numbers anymore?

No, not really,

but it kept you interested

for a while,

didn’t it?

Umm…

The answer was seven.

By the way.