Poetry

Poetry for sale

Rhymes not included

Nor is rhythm or style

No wit or charm

No purpose or meaning

Just an assortment

Of words

In lines

One after another

A row of soldiers

Waiting

For the right mind

To choreograph their dance

To be

It’s not easy,

I’ll tell you that for sure.

Sometimes you’ll laugh

a little less,

cry

A little more.

You’ll feel trapped inside

your human mind.

Twisting you, spinning you,

slowly killing you.

This brain, on a rock, near a star

formed through a dance

of space, of time.

This cosmic kiss.

It's not easy

to exist.

Thursday

I think I die every Thursday.

That’s when everything changes.

Everything and nothing.

Just little things.

The computer corrects a word I've typed

a million times

to a spelling I've never seen before.

Frantic searching through dictionaries betrays me.

You idiot, it was always spelled this way.

It must have been.

But then Thursday rolls around again.

A rebirth into a new world.

Where the minutes seem longer.

the hours shorter.

Did people always pause for this long between words?

Did their eyes always linger on yours,

a little too long,

a little too knowingly.

The breaking headline news of Wednesday,

a mere nothing by Thursday.

No trace of the story.

Why is no one wearing a coat?

Or holding an umbrella.

It’s pouring outside.

But the rain is muted.

Even with the window open

each drop is a lie.

No I never missed your call,

you never called me.

No I wasn't at that party,

what are you talking about?

Their confusion is an act,

a deception.

People are staring.

I can feel it.

My coffee becomes cold in seconds.

All my furniture has been moved around.

These teeth don't feel real.

My reflection is too early.

my shadow too late.

My children are too quiet,

my wife is too loud.

The sky is falling down.

I swear it is,

just look.

How can you not see this.

You must be mad,

or is that me?

The feel of cool metal on my temple.

I know I put a bullet in this chamber,

but I’ve fired six times to no avail.

She’s screaming at me now.

No honey I'm not crazy,

just look outside.

We’re all done for anyway.

The sky is falling down,

and no one cares.

The sky is falling down honey,

the sky is falling down.

She clasps my face in her hands

and in a tense breath of desperation,

Whispers:

No its not.

Everything is fine.

I gasp in shock.

While she tries to reassure me,

her eyes give away

Everything.

Everything and nothing.

I think I die every Thursday.