Poetry | Stories | Photography
Hands raised from the tiny pinnacle to a jeering crowd.
His lips flap, and his turkey neck does a little dance, as the crowd gathers momentum.
Talking nonstop about himself, he begins to sublimate until all that remains is hot gas.
The crowd, stunned into intelligence, retreats.
They embraced the illegitimacy of the government’s rule.
Instead of protesting, they created their own micro-nation.
The Lord and Lady of the one-kilometre kingdom fly their own flag with a coat of arms which consists of a white escutcheon, a wombat, and a gold crown.
imperfect roses
scrutiny and muffled sighs
Refund our money
He speaks to the crowd.
The voice, a sonorous velvet music
lifting the heathens.
Several tongues trace longing lips,
hanging on every word.
He passes judgement.
The crowd become a frenzied mob.
Possessed by his rapture,
they inflict such malicious violence.
from sunrise to sunset
they painstakingly mapped out a plan
the event would be perfect
for five to seven hours
weeks on end of planning and pondering
losing sleep and grey hairs
from beginning to end
life taught you many lessons about perfection
the plan was no more
The last tree for sale
a successful promotion
Saw: busy at work
Floating across the world
lost in a travel daydream
Longing to touch the cold sea
to feel black sand on the shore
Standing outside of my old self
the freezing sea and the green
Losing myself to a life in the Alps
to feel the snow fall from a chalet
Floating away to any place
Wake up, shower, get ready, and leave for work.
Coffee.
Work.
Leave work, commute home, have dinner, think about free time, take a shower, and sleep.
One of the many is a functioning product.
One of the few is considered defective.
Where do the defective products go?
only nature moves
the segmentation of time
whispering your lie
you try to create more time
cheating yourself out of life
rain falling somewhere
the pressure of the workday
rolling in ice cream
C & K 