I kept them for years
those fingerless stripy gloves
a last little link with my mother
who was a diva with the needles
the yellow strands of wool joining us together
in a beautifully knitted chain
although she is long gone from this world,
I found comfort in them once again today
although many years have passed
and I noticed her hands coming out of my sleeves

Faces are our covers
They show the world what we want it to see and to believe

A replacement cover can make a tired old book look new

But hands tell a different story

On the ends of your arms are two gossiping wagging tongues

They always tell the truth!

Turnstone
Tumbled by the tide, over and over
Washed by rolling waves
Polished by the shifting sand
Dried out by the winter sun
That shiny pebble in your hand

Today I held the ocean
measured the span with my own two hands
captured its sum with my fingers and thumb
it's very deep and blue and calm
but I held it all in my outstretched palm

i havv an idea an idea and a room and that's about it a room my room n lots off ideas man life is nice here in my room

fingers graze the violet whisps as
the fire slowly burns out from above.
brilliance was thought to never be.
dreams could never be so perfect.

unlock the feeling of youth,
of the potential of the future.
calling out to the most inner self,
find it.

rays of gold unveil the truth
light becomes dark and yet

somehow,

hope prevails.
dark becomes light once more.

so the assignment was to write about
what the perfect
vacation would look like

and he wrote about
running away from home and
stealing a car
and running people over

robbing a gas station
assaulting and beating
a lady in the restrooms

shooting the cops
smashing their heads in

and at the end driving the car
into a wall and
dying with a shitload of money
and a lady’s head in
the trunk

“Your kid seems very…
troubled,” said the
teacher

“Oh my God!” said the mother. “No,
it’s his father…”

“Hm? His father treats him…
inappropriately you mean?”

“Well, you see… no actually.
His father doesn’t spend
much time with him. He is
a writer…”

“Oh. I see.”