New Poetry

Sorrow That deep pool of grief just below the surface of the air we breathe. When she left, I fell into the pool of sorrow. I struggled to breathe. When she left, you feared the pool. You had pushed it away as you had her. Now you stand near the edge of the suffocating water, the liquid grief laps at your feet. You turn your face as you see me gasp for air. My frustration with you encourages me to breathe on. I drown. I surface and I am reborn into the air. You turn your back.

Unexpected Visit I approach softly so that when I appear you have no time to fear the needle and are overcome with the analgesic properties of my intense company

Working Fantasy I saw you when I opened my eyes to your sight. You were joking with the other guys at work when the sound of the loud speaker jarred your hand to touch the phone and as I spoke into the receiver your scent seeped through. My ears could taste your voice as I considered the thought that I might like to know what you thought of me. The sound of the phone reluctantly clicking left your flavor among my synapses as I envied your touch on the sensation-less handset. I can touch you from here with mere thought so intense that it sweats and its scent is so putrid that my interest is revealed without sight. The phone still against my ear makes the sound of an agitated medium but I ignore it. I taste your cavernous oregano voice in my mouth. The sound of another’s request steals my thought but I struggle to keep you in my mind’s sight. Our eyes kiss and lose sight as I bestow one painless touch of my tender fingertips on your neck without a thought of the throbbing sound they emit. My fingertips taste your pale flesh with a tongue’s touch but elusively remain out of sight.

Exploring My Contents Pounding my intellectual property against the dense oaken deterrent of my morality the chestnut stain painted on thick the familiar circumscription-- No knob or knots nor any sign of weakness in all its looming height and width. The streaks of disdain from scratching in vain hadn’t pierced its grain. I just walked through Having unriddled the restriction, I glimpsed the ruin of my own refuge. Afterward I knew the barrier was defenseless.

Cashiering Ten minutes late for work again. I forgot to shut off the light in the kitchen. We’ll talk about it later because the money I owe you isn’t earned yet. My credit card was denied today and I tripped over some carts when I left the store. The carts didn’t know I was late for work. “Can I see your card please, sir?” He says no and I flash my light at the supervisor. “He doesn’t have any money either,” I think while they talk. I wonder what you will say during the talk we won’t have later. “Can you move your cart please, ma’am?” I ask as I tender the money she digs crumpled from her pocket, making work of paying for her Lubriderm. My light clicks off as my supervisor hands me a greeting card for a coworker who isn’t well. I hold the card as she lingers, wanting to talk about when I flashed my light earlier but she leaves when a customer tips a cart and a child falls out. “Children don’t work because they don’t know how to count money,” I think. I hate handling the dirty money, and my black fingertips imprint the greeting card in a spot where it won’t work to erase. I sit and don’t talk in the break room as I think about carts having personalities and eat a light lunch. I don't sign the card. I don't talk but to myself in the controlled place of work.

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