Splish, splish, ploop.
A stone gently disturbs
the plane of the mirror,
before descending
into undisclosed depths.
Ripples erupt, breaking
the surface of the tarn.
As the current subsides—
splish, splish, ploop.

What if we could
live and die,
creating such soft—
such token undulations?
Splish, splish, ploop.
Let’s cause cosmic waves
of compassion and aegis
for the planet,
our companion-
leaving, as such, small
wrinkles and blemishes
upon the surface.
Splish, splish, ploop.

A. I. Myles   2o June, 2o19
@athenaeumthoughts

A “mailbox” is
a funny thing.
It used to be a means
of keeping in touch
with the ones that we loved—
a tool for connections
and correspondences.
What do we even have
mailboxes for now?
Stores send out coupons
for us to accumulate
goods now.
Credit card companies
send out reminders
to pay off our debts now.
Everyone’s circulating love,
but of status and wealth now.
We’ve become so consumed
with our phones, with fashion
and greed...
how?


A. I. Myles   19 June, 2o19
@athenaeumthoughts

Please don’t tell me
“you’re too young
to be tired.”
I’ll be as tired
as I dang-we’ll please.
There are so many ways
to be “spent”
beyond what you see
physically—
weariness runs more
than skin-deep.
So don’t tell me how
you think I should feel,
because you could
never understand.
My brain, it thrums constantly
and drains me emotionally,
in ways that you
can’t fix with sleep.

A. I. Myles   18 June, 2o19 @athenaeumthoughts

I’ve experienced more
than my eyes could
ever show you.
Steal a glimpse
through the window
when the moonlight hits
just right,
and you might
find the faintest flicker-
vivid imagery.

I’ve experienced more
than my lips could
ever tell you.
Put your ear to the door.
Listen closely.
Deeply.
Don’t take a breathe.
You could miss my
faintest of whispering-
subtle mysteries.

A. I. Myles   14 June, 2o19 @athenaeumdreams

I haven’t been able
to sleep so well lately.
Going to bed late,
I stir from dreams constantly.
During the day
I feel so awake,
and I’ve been writing consistently.
I have words in my brain,
like it’s tuned into
some frequency.

- A. I. Myles   12 June, 2019 @athenaeumthoughts

The thoughts of a writer
can be a terrific
and terrible chasm,
simultaneously.
They spring from one precipice
to another,
dangerously, no-
longingly
peering over the edge,
ready to bound
head-first
towards the next
afflatus.

A. I. Myles   11 June, 2019
@athenaeumthoughts