slop

 

dream this little dream into a winking existence,
knowing. little bits of a bigger realization. dawning
on me. soon. i should have been kinder when i had
the chance. should have. soon. little by little. these
moments escape me. time, this conveyor belt 
setting. whiz by. soon. at the end of the film.
minutes remain. precious minutes. dream this little
dream.

soon. letters on the chalkboard. marks on the
wall, measure my growing disappointment.
myself. soon. myself, this little dream, dreaming.
before long. we're almost done here. soon. only
in dreams.

i will try something different.

Way/Weigh Station

Back to the weekly posts after a rather fruitful Napowrimo. 

I’m already here. Shepherded by bus
in the infancy of night, before the changing
of the guards. Sky and moon, solitary
jailors, an unblinking vigil. You and me
and each of the sky’s flashlights. Searching,
what have they found? Their patience, unblinking,
impassive. Something that screeches into
the colder portion of night, without sound,
in the desperation of a wounded animal, one
who knows that its tormenter has caught
the scent, has circled back, sharp object
in hand, a dream of satisfaction playing
on the mind’s projector reel. silence, take me,
take us all. i can hear the braying of the beast
i can feel the cold dew on my bare feet, creeping
forward through a cold, satisfying chill soon a gnashing
soon a moment reaches it terminus soon an
ending soon another ending and another ending
soon the daylight

soon   

April 6: transmutation

 Today’s Prompt is one I’ve tried before to mixed successes. I opted to revise for some sense of clarity afterwards, so this prompt is like 50-60% true to form. It came from this lovely poem. 

It was around town in the baskets. 

varied and sliced. Ire bewitched me in jest. Those who can, violate the want.

Though with my shield so vast, those who can, steer clear.

Now, It’s 5:40, December, September?

This journey is rarified and round and takes all of my words to bring to flower. Weened.

Can I not negotiate this burden? Can I slap words into the bins of the chosen? No, then strike out! There can be no point in between.

Tell me we are the same with different words. I am waiting.