So surreal,
yet the flowers don’t
have spoons for hands.
Sink Thoughts
The sink drain gurgles about your broken heart…You stare.
Very Short Story: Office Woes
Sheets of coffee-stained paper sit near the mouse, yet that’s too far from the bin.
The keyboard is having a hard time accepting these old fingers don’t work the way they used to, yet the words continue to form on the screen.
The Witch wishes for her Familiar to be closer, so they can find a spell for the shit way this day is going.
Guinness love
There once was a glass of cold Guinness,
drunk only by the old fart named Inness.
When the icy stout touched his lips,
thoughts of Bessie startled old hips.
Now he’s bouncing and pouncing about.
An odd weather day
Pockets of sunlight spring forth between shy clouds, which sit highly in the afternoon sky; the clouds lament that shyness is often mistaken for weakness by the mob.
Most think clouds lack the will to spill heavy rain and sweep quickly across the calm sky. The sun knows the mob are full of bullshit, stinky cow dung, and sloshy old turnips.
The clouds laugh wildly at the sun’s phrasing, which gives them renewed resolve; a philosophical debate is going down on high between the sun and the clouds.
Below, an angel stands obscured by an odd mix of sunlight and shadow, experiencing strange tingling sensations; sweet sensations overtake this heavingly light warrior as the armour feels a bit too tight.
“The mob dare not believe me”, the angel whispers to the clouds as they appear closer.; the sun retreats and the clouds darken as the rain bursts forth onto the dry old Earth.
The sun retreats for a nap, and the angel
laughs loudly as droplets touch worn skin.
The Sunflowers
We’re the rebels in your backyard
stealing
your sweet-smelling clean closet.
Off they come from that clothesline
and
we’re takin’ ’em from your hills hoists.
See us as we fuck with your day while breaking
a beat or two as we dance and move.
There’s nowhere for you to hide your
fresh
sun-kissed clothes as we pack ’em up.
We’re the morning-fresh sunflowers
and
switchblades of the badass suburbs.
Under the Sky
The black heart of summer moves in the sun,
the light soul of winter moves in the snow;
white hands of lily move in the rain,
dark feet of onyx move in the mist.
Black and white,
light and dark;
all the same
under the sky.
Docile Teabag
The docile teabag sits
waiting for boiling water.
Sitting and waiting still
to release sweet smells.
The teabag reminds me
of so many life moments.
Sitting and waiting still
for the internet to work.
Sitting and waiting soft
to play the next episode.
Sitting and staring at
a book until cross-eyed.
A Young Beauty
Blooms of youth
playfully dance
on rosy
blooming cheeks.
The darling with locks
of chestnut and gold
beams coquettishly;
Contemplating
the days
little blooming
for the unknown gaze.
Your Temperament
Your cyclone temperament;
quiet in the middle and outwardly destructive.
C & K 