One Hundred Percent Wool

He calls himself a writer.

His cleverness conceals him from sheep.

A phobia deep

   Seated in the color of

   waves on cloudless days.

 

He hushes and instructs others

with an arrogant pomp.

Burdened by skinny sleep for the week (weak).

Hungry for chili, sourdough, and something else,

So I fed him “The sun rises in the yeast”

Something so suspiciously spice

That he eats and eats and repeats the process.

 

He paints himself in green

   patches his bleeding red heart

   with brilliant blue band-aids

   Immune to the pull away.

Is completely battle weary,

But perseveres because

All bandages must come off someday

and hearts with scars still beat the same.

 

Electric Bill

The mirror is intact
Yet cracked and
A flickering light is no good
for (blemished) reflections.
A flickering light produces
Stop motion shadows in morse code;
Two dimensional death
recycled strobe.
Cover your eyes! I’m

Afraid the youth will be influenced
we have to protect them from
truth That is,
until they flip the switches
In the kitchen
To see what’s cookin’.

you wish you could’ve protected your kids but
big Business doesn’t have an age limit.
Everyone will remember today as
“good times”
When we’re the festering wounds of
who we were.
By then, the mirror is broken
The shards shred bare feet so
be wary of (scarred) reflections.

If there was something
to be scared of
They would tell us.
The fee of freedom
Is flickering lights.

Final Lotus

A pen marks my place

Permanent

on burnable

surfaces.

Lotus III: First and Last

The letters

don’t want to form words

Under order

of a twisted mind.

of a thought gone on

too long

Of feelings

that feel

distant.

————————————

 

Ultimatums are illusions

of the eye beholden.

DoLo

My alter ego sees

through

the eyes of a parallel body.

It walks and breathes

shivers and sweats.

I am as I think.

Not what you see.

That’s why I can’t stand existing alone.

I need to feel

like someone

is on my wavelength

Otherwise,

what’s the point?

Primary Lotus

My body is going to act

a way out of instinct,

But my mind insists

on working in overdrive.

every.single.thing.

has a rhythm in its heartbeat

So how can I discount an existence’s

significance?

circumstances distract me until I

hop off the train.

I have a body and

It has a frame.

But I exist elsewhere. I exist everywhere.