Category Archives: Whimsy

Taut

Well I would’ve thought – that the pattern they fought – of the people who brought all the colors they bought

Would spiral; they sought

A better life than they’ve got

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Doll

Each night my silk-skin shudders
And my yarn-hair starts to fall
The black matte buttons that give me sight
Grow dim and lose their light.

The nightmares climb up bookcases and
Nest in the dust on my grin
They stretch their claws in my overalls
And kiss the freckles on my chin. 

I cannot fight the shadows, so my weaknesses grow strong
Each night the dimness fills my limbs
And seeps into my soles. 

I try to whisper, “help me, please”,
But the child-folk cannot hear. 
So tears of dust fall from my eyes
And I let the shadows near. 

With dawn my shivers grow warmer
And the sun brings back my gleam
I smile painted lips at children
Who see only what they want to see. 

Anyway

Who spits molten lead as I?

Whose shivers leave stone teeth and staring eyes

Who bites the blood into prose and parade

Who paints the bruise into shades that don’t fade

Who lets the lightning in to translate the thunder

Who breathes in the glass dust to exhale the wonder

Who faces the fire to transcribe the burns

Who worries the lion to feel its great fur

Who walks under currents to see the sea play

Who jumps in the lava to rescue the clay

Who pines to feel pain just to write in this way?

Thank God, Myself gets to come along

Or the poet in my brain wouldn’t stay. 

Story-trader

I am a buyer of stories
Your knick knacks mean less to me than the words they form
I am a purchaser of tales and wilds
Unending wind of sunlight and shadow
I survey the stars for the worlds they’ve seen
The tragedies, the brokenness, the heartbreak of dreams. 

I steal from the rivers their tumult and song
The hissing of brooks as they babble along
I am a trader of the lifeblood of all,
The stories of men as they rise, love, and fall.