cii

“Poetry is a deal of joy and pain and wonder, with a dash of the dictionary.” 

-Kahlil Gibran


            I found an old scrap of paper, tucked into a old scrap of folder, wielding a flurry of short poems that I jotted down probably two years ago. And I was relieved to find that they were still applicable to my life, they still could have been written by me last night or two weeks ago or two minutes from now.

            And that is very relieving.

Untitled 1

The sky fades

but I still run,

my shoes caked with mud;

the road caked with dusk.

Untitled 5

The radio blares

a first-rate song

on a third-rate station.

I’ve been asleep for hours.

Title 3

The rain is dying on my window pane and
I’m counting sheep, even though

It’s only noon.