A Magical Mistake
I guess you could say ink and paper make the writer, and I guess that's why I choose not to use them.
Tuesday, February 15, 2022
my mother was a sunshine of memory
Friday, January 28, 2022
Saturday, January 22, 2022
Thursday, January 20, 2022
Thursday, December 9, 2021
Wednesday, December 8, 2021
the last episode of a particular chapter
Monday, December 6, 2021
time to write a poem about covid and false memories of the past
Friday, September 17, 2021
Sunday, September 5, 2021
Tuesday, April 27, 2021
the shadow that the floorboard casts
across my feet.
yesterday's coffee stirs
in the breeze sneaking under
cracks in window
leave broken faces staring into the sun
my hands have no age
i dont recognize them
no wrinkle forms a memory
no scars are a thought
my dreams have transpired
they have become more reality than not
a neighbors lawnmower purrs
the grass is already asleep.
Friday, April 9, 2021
A Collection of Dream V
blocking the exits
a man dismantles a typewriter door frame
I walked down using the back
it was to escape an theatre with
no screen I should have asked him to move
but I didn't want to bother ruin his
my hat is on my hip when I mean to make
sure I didn't leave it in my seat
the film flips at its end black white then black and white
two huge metal doors creak and
the theatre exits and an escalator like metro
removes takes me outside into a city
unlike but it feels like generally
Tuesday, April 6, 2021
A Collection of Dream IV
leaving. i'm here for some reason
stopped being a student
but i'm in hs again. in the building.
someone i know is hanging by the visitors entrance
the other side of the ropes
i lie and tell them my wife is working late
but that's a lie. i don't have a clue where they are.
around the corner. i am entering my old neighborhood
childhood. in a field there's a holed out barn burnt up
the building held some importance long ago
to memory or youth possibly. i cannot hold back.
beyond the barn the structure shifting to this kind
of soft smooth neoclassical structure a kind of
bottle behind it rising above the sky
there's a larger horrible copy
engulfing the earth my eyes my mind
Friday, April 2, 2021
A Collection of Dream III
I am at a thrift store. My brother slipping
something in pocket.
we're outside looking in cars. I am not aware.
We may have been seen.
Inside the car my father looks out. His eyes are bulgy under lids. they are gone.
He says they are getting better. better.
but his eye lids are stuck together. He forces them open as proof.
the thin skin tearing at his lashes.