Poetry Posts

I have painted a picture
of apples and pears
on a table
with
a vase of poppies,
then I ate the apples,
I ate the pears,
the poppies dried,
and I broke the vase.
The apple tasted sweet,
the pears were so juicy,
and the poppies were the yellow
of the sun
***

What is your dream?
You have to follow that.
That is what is important,
it’s not education,
it’s not job,
it’s the dream.
It’s something to fall asleep with
every night of your life.
A life which matters
only through love and dreams.
My dream is this.
Today I did this toward my dream.
Now I can sleep
a poet’s sleep

***

did I expect this
this sense of expectation
death sits at the window
asking stupid questions
waiting for me to
get through here

art is on the other side of
the window
waiting for me
to paint in red
throwing paint like it
mattered, like I matter, like
anything matters

***

She said goodbye but is not gone
for she is here
with us
we must meet again here in the shadows
here in the silence of
words, we must hold each other, we
must,
lest the dogs eat us, lest we be found
alone and
shattered without
each other

***