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TMReed 7d
Do you want to hear a riddle?
No?
I’ll tell you anyway.
Here’s a hint:
Don’t overthink it.

You have seven baby teeth on your ninth birthday.
You have five baby teeth on your tenth birthday.
You have three baby teeth on your eleventh birthday.
How many baby teeth do you have when you turn twelve?

None.
Only babies have baby teeth.

Or so I’ve been told.
Teeth can be awfully clueless sometimes.
TMReed 7d
There’s a puddle that reminds me of you.
I’ve become such a regular,
its mud has memorized the contours of my shoes,
right wider than the left, toes turned out.

I imagine my puddle—listen to me, calling it mine—
waits for my eyes to peek over the weeds,
a sweet surprise for a lonely morning.
I step inside. I smile. It smiles back.

I keep it company until the sun runs behind the weeds.
It clings to me in the dark, asking me to stay a little longer.
Long enough for its kisses to soak through my shoes,
to remember how a sole can blister in devotion.

It’s getting late now, my body is cold, my legs are weak.
In a word, we cap another bottle,
A lovely message to nothing and no one,
What’s our valediction but a kiss dying ‘fore my lips?

When I sleep, wrapped in fleece,
my spirit shivers for its touch,
impatient to wake and sink my feet again,
impatient to drown, if I could.

But some mornings are lonelier than others.
Some mornings, I stand dry in the weeds,
watching my puddle smile like it does
for eyes that aren’t mine.

I wonder if tomorrow
my puddle will smile for me again,
while I stand in footprints
two sizes bigger, favoring their heels.
If my puddle pretends not to notice, must I?
TMReed 7d
You gave me quite a gift-here.
All these years, I’d gotten real distracted.
Better skies are full of clouds.
Your sunshine never should’ve lasted.
Happiness lies—convincingly and often.
TMReed Nov 19
You left another mess.  
Third this week.
Don’t you ever-

Ignore me.
It’s nothing.
I’ll take care of it.

Again.
TMReed Nov 18
Chew me, will you?
Chew me, won't you?
Wedge me 'tween two
wine-stained yahoos.
Soak my core through
scaly beast, You!

Look at me,
more theatre than figure—lying here,
sinking deeper still in oddments and drool.

How long now,
have I withered in the moments I've missed?
Paths n’ pavements, once denounced, now creeping
like mold each night over my timber skin.

Oh to think,  
A wonder. A classic. A household name.
Might I earn such praise from heeding masses?
Could my story sneak like an ice cube down
their backs, spin stranger twists into their spines?
Relish, I would, their tales of joy n’ thrill
etched lovingly into mine. Into mine.

‘Stead I lie,
A janitor. A waste. An afterthought.
sweating in my splintered coat, stabbing at
wet hunks of lamb that shamelessly remind
me how truly ordinary I am.

Such is life,
for a toothpick.
Empty promises grow even between your teeth.
TMReed Nov 18
Two flapping wings deliver me
nowhere until my wits release,
white-knuckled, oh so desperately,
from you, my only masterpiece.
We grab carelessly, thinking little of how we will let go.
TMReed Nov 18
Each morn, I sow
a quest-in mind,
resolved to find,
a handsome home,
‘low golden glow,
or wood entwined,
one springs to mind.
What place I’ll go
in morning throes
to bury blind
this heart of mine,
I never know.
A day begins without light or sound—with discovery.
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