Wednesday, July 29, 2015

Poor Baby

Too sad
for poetry.
Too far gone
to save.
Even the dogs
distance
themselves and
the cat just
howls
for a leveling
of his bowl.

I cannot paint,
and prose sounds
dumb, and the
stage it seems
is for those
much prettier than me.

I am lost
in selfish introspection.

I am too
sad to write
a poem.


Tuesday, July 14, 2015

She's gone to Texas

Carrie brought
another round,
scolded Ethan

gently

and left.
Boots watched

as she made
her way
between tables

in her
friendly manner.

"I don't
get
you two"

"Simple"

Blue said
without
looking up,

"she likes
the way I talk
but hates
the things I say".