we are lost
and

our stories our
souls

are stranded
on the highways

like the lines
broken

on the palms of our
hands

Whit Howland © 2020

a toy boat with a
makeshift
sail

floating maybe

gliding

on an earthy colored
and glassy
pond

surrounded
by tangled
greenery

there's a breeze

though
it's more an
invisible hand

nudging
the vessel to

but mostly
far

and away

Whit Howland © 2020

In order
to contain
the paste
within
the dimpled
metal tube
I'll rub cream
over the area
of the ugly
thing and I'll
do my best to avoid
picking at it
as well as
feeding trolls or
fire breathing
dragons

Whit Howland © 2020

slow and steady
nice

and easy
the turtle moves

scrub

undo
unlearn
unpack
wash

and reorganize

the finish line
being

reeled in with
a rope on a squeaky pulley

on a rope
with a squeaky pulley


Whit Howland © 2020

It could be a perfect
world

if we worked at it

it could be void
of words

like worry
confession or
betrayal

with sentences
less dark

and stormy

of where the gun never
smokes

and the unvieled damsel  
is never

in distress

and where shadows
give way

to transparency
and sunlight

Whit Howland © 2020

He's there
just like he's
here

and everywhere
we need him
to be

in a form open to
interpretation

mixed with much
creativity
and imagination

Whit Howland © 2020