life isn't fair

and the wind's screaming,
rushing past your face in a desperate
impossible attempt to catch up
with the morning sun that warms it
(jealous of the sun's radiant smile)

come undone

it's going to rain again soon,
whisperings of soft padding
on the ceilings, next to fogged up
car windows

listening to radio tunes,
kissing away any imperfections
in our lives

radio activities

this will be an explosive
end scene; half lives keep dividing,

metaphorical asymptotes-
our dangerousness will

never reach zero, radio
drones on, singing processed tunes

solitude within solidarity

are you apart from us,
or are you a part of this?

hiroshima

screams of burning flesh
scorch your nostrils, inhale
& the skin peels off in
strips, baring the humanity

that lies beneath,
bringing us all

together

THIS JUST MIGHT BE A CRY FROM YOUR HELP.

ashen glances at the clock
serve as a reminder;
her face feels your touch,
and she knows.

You know now.

leafy vegetables

emerald tedrils saturate the
atmosphere, vines carressing your face
& sweeping around your senses,
poking into your ear gently;

enveloping your mouth
to supress your screams

puppy dogs

creeping suspiscions
border on the edges of sanity,
licking eagerly at the
sweat dripping
down your face

THIS IS NOT POETRY

liberalism

bustling metropolis rushes by,
black heels clicking angrily
on sidewalks, sidestepping
parked cars & emotions (forgetting

humanity) huddling together in
a mass of begging; signs held up
by panhandlers shiver in
the coolness of invisibility

underbelly of a society
eaten away by success;
Cars rush as lights turn
green, affirming Progress

the hills have eyes

chimes jingle on a door;
slam shut. Footsteps echo,
revebrating off of empty shelves

Dusty floors rise up
to greet customers,
prices haphazardly hung
next to sold items

collateral damage is evaluated.
The broom in the corner's broken,
and the freezer's warm to
the touch (on the inside)

Desolate winds blow across
civilization's last stand.
grey & brown & red & empty

turkeys

"Shannon," I cried out
"please don't leave me,

I can't comprehend
why things would ever happen
the way that they have to be"

countdown

sparkling champagne
splashes in your face,
leaving burns in your eyes

the new year's over

americana

tinkling keys on a toy piano,
ebony and ivory memories
carved into the wooden scratches

yellowed pearls drape down
the neck of the grandmother
who teaches the young girl to
curl her fingers just so,

brown hair loosely flowing
down, passing her ears and forming
bouncy curls around her face