A Blank Canvas

A point of interest

On a blank canvas

White

And Seamless

Paint in hand

Brush at the ready

Magnificent visions

And the means

To capture them

So why do I not paint

Why does my brush not create

The masterpiece in my mind

I’m a blocked drain

Without a plunger at hand

Imprint

You’re at the end

Of another quiet Monday

Wandering through the drifting fogs of time

The imprint of your hand

On a glass doorway

Is all you’ll leave behind

To memory

And the love of those you’ll leave behind

 

Because you’ve stopped trying

A Sea Of Sifted Gold

I’m swimming through a sea

Of sifted gold

As the delightful crowd

Chants my name

Each person I pass

Placing a weight on my back

And laughing as I sink

Into the deep

I’ll rest on the bottom

And breathe it all in

But only when it is right

To do so

 

 

Under A Kerosene Sky

Nothing works when you try

Only when you fail do they notice

Innocuous comments

Become violent streams of apathy

Lost in the streetlight

Under a kerosene sky

 

Multiple vials line my streets

And contain the essence

Of life’s CT Scans

And I’ve found no voice

At the other end of the broken

Telephone

 

It’s slow to achieve progress

In the world caked in dry mud

And the bingeing will stop

When someone stops selling

 

 

 

Clenched, Aching Fists

She weeps
But doesn’t know
Why
To console her
Is difficult
To make her laugh
An impossibility
To talk
To try to sift
Through the clouds
In her mind
Too awkward

So I’ll sit
Close
To her clenched
Aching fists
And I’ll make life
All about her

Suited and Booted

Sometimes to me
The world doesn’t feel ready
For such an ill-fitted
Person
To walk its streets
I’m suited
And booted
With nowhere to go
And all signs
Point to the effectiveness
Of an angry glare
And a spit in the face

No wonder
The mothers are worried
I’ll eat their children
Or those I say hello to
Look silently past my shoulder

It’s rather strange
To know that I’m so intangible
When the need arises
For others
Not me