that's mrs. mediocrity to you

.

.

standing in the mud
of apprehension

holding my breath

birthing my fear

inhaling

flame

.

. . . . .

.

.

diligence and derelict

history is a faulty course
in humanity

we miss all the silence

the bone-crunching weight
of existence

the bleeding fingers of daily toil

and end up with highlights
reeled and presented
in a package wrapped in bias

much the way
we present ourselves today
in this new realm
of me-story

where you cannot believe
what you see

.

. . . . .

.

.

a poem, designed

all the things i’m sorry for
can’t be written
in the confines
of a page

i have a fibonacci spiral

the outline
of a staircase

this never-happened
maze
of fallen dream

two columns
of regret
(one wider than the other)

surrounded by white space

a round-edged photo
of background noise

and over to one side

an arrow

pointing

next

.

.

.

.

. . . . .

.

.

the day we (almost) died

was a day like any other

filled with
silences and bitter trope

a tiny bit
of fervent laughter

tea and whiskey

one small kiss in the crease
of a neck

sustenance and sugar

mirrors and spice.

.

. . . . .

.

.

a tiny map of luminescence

written on a
parchment paper life

and carried
home

.

. . . . .

.

i had no plans to join in on poetry month this year, and yet here i am,
not at all sure i’ll find time to continue, and deciding that I definitely don’t have time
for an image AND words every day, so just words.
who knows where this will take me?

h/t to grapeling for the gentle nudge, you should go here and read

there is all this space

built into walls

edging out corners

rippling on this ocean

of floor

.

.

.

on a wall
standing tall
for no reason

narcissus and woodpecker
posing as imprinted
impermanent
tattoo

listen

.

.

.