POV: PO Box

mailbox

365 days a year.

52 weeks.

Every day mouth opened.

Yawning wide

Letters fly in.

Hand hewn,

Seed of the soul

Love letters

I embowel.

Buried deep

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Mercy for the Reaper

I met him on the corner of Second and Main

One afternoon, walking home from nowhere.

He stood so still, I tried not to stare.

Benjamin Knight, military sniper, code-name Reaper.

In his voice I heard dark rooms filled with secret deserts

And the sound of bones breaking from

The mercenary desolation of subsisting.

But in his eyes I saw the shadows, darker than any nightmare,

Splinter around the dreams he keeps locked away.

 

 

The Importance of Being Unbroken

White crayon on white paper,

Seems pointless doesn’t it;

Little more than a place holder.

But open up a new box of 24

Crayola crayons to find that tip broken

And the whole box feels used.

Invisible

I hate to admit that some days I think I’m invisible.

At my core I’m introverted and admittedly

Sometimes I come across as anti-social;

But what else am I to think

When even my imaginary friends

Stop talking to me?

Fool Me Twice

Honey, bring me the sunset in a coffee cup.

Pour this ceramic vessel to the brim

Of a technicolor sky.

As the sun falls, dip dying the horizon

In Valentine hearts, monarch’s wings, and lilac petals,

Make me a promise to leave

A salt stained mattress at the place of impact.

An eight foot trampoline speckled with melted water balloons

From childhood games.

Return to me the sexuality of youth’s first love,

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