People were like soap operas—
So when I could,
I’d turn them to sonnets.
And when I couldn’t,
I’d call it a wash.

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People were like soap operas—
So when I could,
I’d turn them to sonnets.
And when I couldn’t,
I’d call it a wash.
I was mocked
Then told off
On two separate occasions
For doing what excites me
For mere entertainment
Taken, always taken
Out of sorts and out of mind
Like a three ring circus,
This tamer’s been bit
For the very, very
Very last time.
If it works out
It works out
If not, you learn a lesson
You move on to the next
Split hands and
Double down
Let’s make this hard demeanor
seem effortless as clothes,
worn to keep you even
keeled, careful and alone, but
we’re not an island, flower petal
rock or sinking stone,
he’ll take the time, reverse the crime
and kill me in plain clothes.
Probably the hardest lesson
to learn is that, in life
you can do everything right,
and still get it wrong.
Seated in the summer sun
drenched in heat
reading a novel, alone
how sweet.
With memories of you
drenched in heat,
feet stretched out
along the beach.
Where in the summer sun
you’d sit and read
a novel too, my mother
sweet.
While you’d watch us kids
the swimming sea,
and how you read
effortlessly,
I never wondered then
like I do now,
how a quiet lesson
could teach me how.
I turn each page
my mind at rest,
my mother’s sun
warm on my chest.
With all stones cast
There’s a pot still boiling
And a kettle left black
There’s a house still standing
With thinly cracked glass
There’s a kink in the line
With a reel still intact
There’s a spell in the ether
Waiting to be cast
With all stones thrown
There’s a hole full of flesh
There’s a crack in the arrow
There’s an angry protest
Each body a story, color, and time
Each arrow head sharpened, pristine, and divine
Each voice becomes voiceless, estranged, and unkind
With all stones turned
There lies not a soul
The truth is but squalor
Results are annulled
In a garden of daisies
Rest youthful and old
A graveyard of rubble
for silver and gold?