“what’s my name?”
I ask to re-establish
I’m a real person
Poetry
I’m working on writing a thousand poems. I started in April 2015.
Poem #179
young boy with a wide brimmed hat
climbs to the top of his favorite tree
he surveys the view and smiles
his hand slips and he slips to the ground
Poem #178
stare at the ceiling
and don’t think
don’t sigh
don’t blink
disconnect from it
no link
the body is temporary
the mind sinks
into the abyss
not to drink
float there
just shrink
Poem #177
heaviness in my brain
calm subtle joy
Poem #176
pastel fluff
dark wire
amorphous blob
geometric patterns
perfection
Poem #175
a cocoon of artificial heat
dark gray sky before sunrise
red and yellow lights everywhere
the world is lively before it wakes
Poem #174
the machine and I
it was the best
I’m a good idea
Poem #173
the quilter pushed her project
through the sewing machine
she was unaware of the beetle
the small beetle clung
to a pinned together seam in the fabric
the small beetle was unaware of the machine
the machine brought it’s needle down
into the fabric edges and the beetle
the machine was unaware of everything
Poem #172
out in the desert with a night breeze
warm, thick air brushes every inch of skin
faint wind chimes sing without confidence
the starry sky presents no urgency
relaxation at its most poignant
Poem #171
the orange cat sits at the open window
his neck cranes for every angle
he can hardly look outside
the intensity of the freedom is too much
but he remains on the sill
enjoying the cool wind on him
a reminder of freedom, though he can’t look
the closeness to the outside is enough