They said, So what’s your type?
I said, Haven’t got one, But there must be more than two, And if you’re in, me and you We can play this game with no teams and no winners– We’re neither the saints nor the purest of sinners, But be my incentive for sticking around on earth, And I’ll be yours too. We’ll never find stars down here I’m told, But our participation here’s prized above gold.
So let’s make a story about me and you No need to represent Nothing to represent
Not theory nor experiment. This is a story about me and you:
Car-towed and phone-dead
You stumbled cold inside
Searching for a place to charge
So you could call a ride.
You couldn’t reach the taxi
But somehow, by mistake you
Came across some car-owners
Offering to take you.
You came looking for power
But upon further inspection
It wasn’t power that saved you
But rather, some connection.
A Haiku About Writing Over Sharpie Marks With Dry-Erase Markers So You Can Wipe Them Off (And Other Things):
Is so quick to overtake
What seemed permanent
This Can Be The Last Poem Entitled ‘Almond Eyes’ Written:
Her eyes were like almonds
in that they produced a watery substance
that could not accurately be described as ‘milk.’
Want to make change?
First you’ve got to make history
Out of the fantasies in your mind
Out of the thick air where you draw
Ghosts of some past to inhabit you
Who see ruins of pillars in the cobblestone
and say to rebuild
what always wasn’t
They’re so glad to have you here
So long as you’re not too much of what you are,
And can fit yourself inside their narrow outline for one of the good ones
(Exactly one of the good ones).
But now you notice it’s feeling tight
And you’ve spent your life climbing up their pedestal
So you can be a prop:
One season change away from going out of style,
One slip away from getting knocked off.