Poetry

City Scape

The cities reflect me as I stand on the edge,

cliff nose to window. They would be castles

in the air, if I didn’t look down

to see the miles below where eyes are open,

ogling until the soil, until the grave.

They have the scent of sweet rot,

that candy cane gutter pile left

for the elves in high viz jackets

(that render them invisible to the streets and suits);

underpaid, overworked, and tired – so tired.

And still those glassy screens profess

fresh lilies, crisp and bred to perfection.

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Poetry

Lucky Cat

It sits there, waving its merry wave

as people pass

paying it no mind.

All it wants to do is greet them,

wish them a good day.

Over the years, the dirt and grime

kicked up by so many feet

clog its workings.

Its arm stiffens, its wave hardly a wave

and its painted smile flaking

but still it goes on,

hoping that one day, someone will wave back.

Poetry

In this light

It’s easy staring out into the dark. Turning away from the cries, the smoke, the sound of a full room discussing the wonders of brick while wood burns only a few feet away. The darkness quiets me. Lulls me into a soft sleep, intent on making me think I can forget. My dreams wage war for eternity.