Maelstrom

It’s not in the cliché way
you smile, say Chris and Mom “stayed home”.
It’s the picturesque shot of you
walking into church alone.Read More »

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Crossroads

My crossroads were a metaphor,
because where was I when I realized the road before me forked?
In the reclining chair,

painting the epistemic situation in the distinctive shades
of sand, sun, and tumbleweeds- nothing but dust and wind on either
side as far as eye could see. And how was I to choose between,
and win or lose or even move?

But that’s the thing about crossroads. You never paint their metaphor
if you find sitting still an option.
It would be a third path, and you would plow on. So,
pressure. Tick, tock.

But my crossroads were a metaphor! I finally realized,Read More »

Sanity

We all stand
on the same polka dotted mat.

You stomp the colored spots
like they’re disco-balls. You’re effortless,
the game’s commands flowing through
your veins. Your instinct: Graceful dance.

I start
with the center,
but one spot cannot hold two limbs!
So all that comes next
is a jumble-Read More »

On the Possibility of Crossing Paths with a Distant, Lost Mug

Once the travel mug tired of journeying at last
and couldn’t even stand to take the paved road home,
Dave lost the dear friend in all its specificities.
But stomp its foot and huff its breath all it wants,
I don’t think that it will stay stagnant long.
Things roll, people shove, and you never have much say
in where you end up, which is not all bad, because
wasn’t the travel mug made to sojourn?
And aren’t our crimes against ourselves along with the rest,
until our selves break or break out into light?