Or trap
for tourists

but not travelers
and searchers

who'd find gold
and platinum

in the two headed
yak

or snake
with a spooned tongue

and they would
bank on it

you say you
love me

and immediately
I look for strings

and a hand
up your back

wool
we sit in a park

on the grass
as the day turns

dark

we fail to see
but most of all

we  struggle

A hardboiled egg
on the counter

dyed blue

staring at me
at six am

he is risen
and unfortunately

so did I

Slats
planted in the sand

lashed together
with rusty wire

while scraggly reeds peak in out
And up around them

I am there and yet

I never was

Cotton whites

sock shirts
and drawers

still fresh with the scent
of laundry soap

flapping

in a crisp March wind
on a gray weathered rope

they say pictures
last forever

but not this one

fading fast between
the plastic and acidic pages

A silver nicrophone
blares

rapid fire punchlines
in one long sentence

that snakes its way
to your funny bone