THICK, BROWN POEMS #4 Three short ones…

THREE SHORT ONES…

The buckled breadboard.

 

When my stones don’t skip

My heart is pickled

My blood is vinegar

The peel curls around my world

And split onions are the only things

That let me cry.

LABOR DAY

I slept.

Dreamt like wagon trains

in the fog.

And woke with my mind

in a jar.

Quiet storms still

bring down old

trees.

PLANT A TREE

My hair is turning grey.

I’m low for now,

but i can find myself again

I just need a strong laundry powder

to get the stains out.

I always think about the time we

spent doing whatever we wanted.

I was free,

I just didn’t see it.

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