Poetry · Writing

1-800-555-2457

the static channel is louder today,

the musty recliner sinks deeper,

a socked foot blocks the left most side of the hushing screen,

the channel changes the static turns to picture

of a woman

selling pans

her golden curled hair flowed as she walked back and forth

just under was the number 18005552457

stainless steel and a non stick surface for a premium cooking experience

for three payments of 19.99 you can have this pan today

but if you act fast you can-

the static channel claimed her back into a loud shh,

the toe dissapears from the screen

a dial tone matches the static.

Poetry · Writing

bottom of the barrel

the bottom wasn’t the bottom

it never existed

it was just home,

the golden fish would tell stories

of a land bathed in light

kissed by soft air-

we huddled around her stories

of fulfilment and life,

we prayed to poseidon

to bring us;

bring us to the land of the free,

where goldy stayed-

away from the bottom.

the next day she was gone,

the we shuffled to an i

in silence.

Poetry · Writing

closed casket:

i crave the peace

trapped in a box

of screaming wildebeest

stomping around singing

it’s a small world after all,

this is what they’ll see on my final days

death by Lion King,

they’ll laugh at that joke on their final meetup

doing what it was intended,

never want them to see the madness

just the joke