Bye mom bye son
Please go slow
And stay low
Remember crawling
Is the ONLY! way to go

Halfway down fifth
Left into third
Spinning wheels hubcap splatter  
Screeching halt kneel and scatter

Swoosh zzzip swoosh

On knees for feet
Gnashing teeth a hit hit hit
Some stay sprawling
Most ran crawling

Early Monday morning
Stats please
Doctor's calling
We've had a good weekend doc
Only two stood falling

Who got shot
Two twelve year old's
And a baby
With a bottle in a cot

****** nurse how appalling
I wish they could all
Just remain crawling

The sky is cloudy, yellowed by the smoke.
For view there are the houses opposite
Cutting the sky with one long line of wall
Like solid fog: far as the eye can stretch
Monotony of surface & of form
Without a break to hang a guess upon.
No bird can make a shadow as it flies,
For all is shadow, as in ways o'erhung
By thickest canvass, where the golden rays
Are clothed in hemp. No figure lingering
Pauses to feed the hunger of the eye
Or rest a little on the lap of life.
All hurry on & look upon the ground,
Or glance unmarking at the passers by
The wheels are hurrying too, cabs, carriages
All closed, in multiplied identity.
The world seems one huge prison-house & court
Where men are punished at the slightest cost,
With lowest rate of colour, warmth & joy.

I have been stabbed a thousand times in my back,
I am beginning to look like a porcupine.

They say they love you.
And they care about you.
And that theyre there for you.

And. Thats supposed to feel good. Its supposed to feel nice.
Be nice.

But honestly.
It just makes me feel nervous.
Uneasy.
Apprehension and suspicion grip me.

They shake me.

And yet at the same time, mostly,
I feel apathy.
Nothing
As if your words were as grains of sand to my beach.
As if they were the folds of some drapery
That i depicted in my sketching class.
Singularly, it is so insignificance to me.
And maybe thats where im going wrong. Looking for beauty and solidity in pebbles and ripples.
It all. Means something. Everything. But.
It all means nothing.
Theyre just words.

And whos to say youre even real.

Wait.
Am i even real.

She chases autumn leaves
As though they’re
Wild scurrying mice,
Of brown and red,
And yellow ochre.
There’s a flurry of leaves
As she pounces onto her
Imaginary foe,
Which barely escapes.
She carefully peers beneath
Her soft playful paws.
In a whisp of crisp air,
It vanishes.