Imp
Honestly
it’s just day two
and Tuesdays aren’t poetic
I mustn’t forget momentous events
are not always big screen
but dog day distance too
as dogs still howl
morning sunlight warms the porch
and I am divorced from your poison
I know this because I cannot shop
in regular stores where sizes top out
at 14, 16 at most.
I can hike 15, 20 miles a day
but I cannot fit into garments
designed to fit size two
through ten, as if they
are the only bodies
entitled to take to the trails.
I challenge you. You may
be smaller than me, but I bet
I can beat you to the next ridge.
Some radioactive powers gained
after a bite from a radioactive something.
A list of not-lame super-names,
and the only one that didn’t break copyright.
A costume makes a theme
and a theme makes the merchandising.
Always thinking that more was more,
the clearance section gave him more for less.
Shoulder pads, knee pads, chains, a metal skull mask,
a cape that came with tatters, gloves that came with spikes.
An eye catching sports car, a swanky clubhouse,
a really good boy, a really small cape.
A burglary report through the themed phone,
a slide to action down the themed pole.
BLAM! WHIFF! POW!
BLAM! — A burglar shoots his gun
WHIFF! — Lonny falls down
POW! — Lonny hits the ground
You can find my memories of you
tucked behind my occipital nerve,
intertwined with veins like wrapping
vines, like a pulse crawling down
my inner forearm when I think
of blurry walks home. I’ll let you
cut through to clear them away,
stainless steel to cornea, spilling out
the thoughts I dismiss drowned with the fluid.
Don’t worry, it’ll be home
resting in your palm.
Just think of me often.
Don’t leave it on the porch.
so can we think of it less as a sinkhole and
more as a hole that happens to be sinking
Whispers very softly
All is at peace now
Be assured
The sun will rise again
On another busy day
Be at peace now
Listen
i.
Today I am bad at yellow;
still photograph fireflies in the sunshine.
The phone keeps translating poems
as problems. And paint as pain.
Time for bed sleepy head
she whispered in my ear
heavy eyes filled with grit
the sand man’s visit was complete
gently placeed between the sheets
orange blossom , strawberry cake
banana pudding or pumpkin pie
silly thoughts that make no sense
drifitng off towards a new day
a hug and a kiss
the last of the night time rituals unfold.
sweet dreams
I went to the store, normal routine,
to buy rice and Spam and beans.
And when I got me there I seen
some fancy new machines.
Mister Cog, one box, it read;
which I ain’t never seen.
“I feel quite bad, he’s in a box,”
I think I might have said.
Whatever I said, he was in a box,
and so the box it read:
“He’ll feed the dog, help kids with chores—
but wait, there’s more!” it said.
“He’ll read for you, he’ll write for you!
He’ll even make your bed!”
And Mister Cog popped out the box,
as I would jump out of bed.
Silver, silver, each bolthead,
steel painted white and red.
“There won’t be any use for you!”
and so, the bot, he said.
“No need to use your head.
There won’t be any use for you,
you might as well be dead!”
