Poetry · Writing

Blanketed Diner

Embellish in the retelling, you’ve heard it

all before in your nightmares. Seasoning

the story with white lies and full lies to

bring the love story blooming out in

false flavor. Damn that’s delicious.

Kiss the chef for me. Kiss em twice and

run for the hills, silently relieved to

feel the sun on your skin for the first time

in relived memory.

Can’t blame you. The sun was covered,

hidden in the moon or in photos. How can

you sell something you’ve never seen before?

 

Poetry · Writing

Poem 26

The door didn’t slam

on the way out. Free

exit but a slow

exit. Countless

seconds holding this

pen to leave it beyond

the threshold. It wasn’t

the right fit. The night

wouldn’t let me forget.

Dreaming of people I’ve never met

places in cities off the map.

It kept calling me. Too late

to send to decline.

Poetry · Writing

Portals

Blink and you were there.

When I needed you the most,

I didn’t blink hard enough.

Portal jumping was just

a game to you. My heart

was just a game. Couldn’t

find the second controller. 

Blinked and you returned.

Sweat driven

adventure fuled

dreams conquered

and

and I couldn’t remember your face.

Poetry · Writing

Portland

Lift life, across open doors

flying sixty down

open highways. Breeze

flying through unkempt

hair singing along

to September in

the middle of

September. Do you

remember, the 21st night?

Leaving behind

the trouble nights

with mid level deduction

and a half bottle of Jack,

just turned the keys

and drove.

Poetry · Writing

Our Land

We blamed everything on the Aliens.

They took our homes

they took our food

they took our wives

and we couldn’t stop it.

The dominant being

consumed what it pleased

and didn’t give a fuck.

It’s what we would do

if the Aliens never came.

They, we seemed to forget

that we

took the first shot.

that we shot first.

Poetry · Writing

Trial and Error

The loss crawls over me

like the hand of the reaper,,

he comes for me. Slips into

my dreams, night terror,

monster under my bed

Mike Wazowski

took the night off.

The next day’s morning

glare wards off the sickly beast.

Left under the horizon

they’ll stay, forgotten

in the success of the

next.