Poetry

Building a dam

Troubled gaze,

flashes of haze in the mind

replacing coherence

with an utterance of garbled words.

Grinding out thoughts half-chewed

down the speaking pipe leading to you.

The waterworks called my eyes

also storm in, no surprise

and shut away every important thing

so I’m left rambling.

You understand, I know it happens to you too

and I agree it’s never grand

to be suppressed by your own throat

as it seizes up dry as a deserted moat.

Oh well. We’ll get there.

We’ll just enjoy every moment we have to spare

together.

Poetry

Next, please.

Crafting, a menu that extends to the farthest craters of the moon. Drawers inside of boxes, containing tiny keys – silver, brass, gold. Locks in high places, just out of reach, tucked behind ears for later thinking. A pot of molten language, sifting, bubbling, evolving. Curses turn to common tongue, tongues that cease to pause and hear. Words tiptoe away down to the shadows.