Category Archives: Poetry

I have tried to be less

 

I have tried to be less
I have tried to be small
Hoping that I could
Not exist at all
I’ve pushed all my valiance toward virtue
But fuck it
Purity
Is an illusion
Perfection ever changes
And God
He’s not coming
I will be pitted, defective, mistaken
I will be whole
Unapologetic
Here I stand
Naked, flawed, beautiful, untouchable
No one can hurt me
Because I know who I am

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 


 

 

 

A Quick Breakfast

 

I was really tired when I wrote these!

 


 

I want an egg sandwich.
These things make themselves
If you’ve lost enough sleep
You can watch them
Make themselves
Life is easier when your breakfast is sentient
And ambulatory
As long as its attitude toward being eaten
Is positive.
A positive attitude
Can really make or break
A good breakfast.
Don’t break my breakfast
By giving it existential dread
Don’t let it start enjoying the real world
Or fearing death
Because soon
I must eat it
And I hate having to catch my own breakfast.
Swifter than a deer
So does the yolk in my egg sandwich run.

 

 


A second attempt:


 

Every morning
I must catch my own breakfast
The eggs are runny
The bacon is cooking fast
And these quickbreads won’t get away from me anytime soon.
But they’re going to have to get up earlier than that in the morning!

 

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Cow

 

Grass gnawing
Turf tearing
Icon of contentment
Barn born bovine
Hay hungry herd huddler
Placid pie plopper
Unbridled idler
Four stomached, ruminating
Walleyed with wonder
Lowly lowing
Generous giant
Milk making miracle
Butter bringer
Beef behind

Brown like whole wheat
Brown as warm wood
Black like crickets
Black as dark coffee
White like warm quilts
Heavy as full cream

Bracing themselves against the wind
Enjoying each other’s company
They stand, sit, walk in heaps
Hopefully approach you
Tickling tongue nibbling leaves from your open hand
Feed them from your fingers, feel the fine fur
Fuzzy ears focusing
Big wet snouts outsize your palm
Long lashes catch the light
Delicate details
Dense marble eyes, gentility, impossible deep souls
Hollow yet happy
Vacant yet wise

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

The Human Trap

Something about the coziness of a sleeping cat is sacred
And must not be disturbed.
They get miffed if you have the gall to wake them up,
Because they know the natural order of things.
I can wake a human with cold conscience
But a cat?
Curled into a warm ball,
Melted into my lap,
With an upturned happy little cat smile.
Impossible.
I’ll just have to stay here forever.
Nothing is as important
As letting the cat sleep.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

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