Ghosts (A Poem)

Plastic strips Pins and clips Cardboard tubes Balls of hair Evidence that Ghosts are there Socks on floors Open doors Mayonnaise jar Drawer ajar Proof that Ghosts are never far Ghosts not fair Ghosts don't care Haunting me My OCD They leave on lights And the TV

The Drought (A Poem)

Cracks in mud like peeling paint No words for pen of feather Paper is not Blacked by marks Of written works by Wether The falls that flowed so readily Have thirsted lessthenever With nothing left to write or right This drought will last forever

Waterfall

On the carpeted floor of the south bedroom in that small patch of sun. It's as good a place as any to lie.  It's as good a place as any to cry. But why?  Who knows?  Is his dopamine too low? Have regrets piled too steep?  Does he just need more sleep? It's a cycle, … Continue reading Waterfall