Fear

Love is a jerk,
a cruel-hearted beast

with a gap-toothed grin
and a cigarette.

Tossing his arm around your shoulder-
the friendliest bloke on the block,
don’t you know-

he opens his jacket to get you to try things
that you’d never dare
if ol’ love were not there.

You follow him home for his company;
He locks you in his house

as he leaves.

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The Little Pony

ride a little pony into town
ride a little pony-
oops-
you fell down

No longer two but twenty-two,
no longer atop my grandpa’s knees but straddling a tight rope,
no longer slipping between his legs-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?