Mood swings
no

see saws
maybe

but definitely
not monkey bars

and what does it matter
anyway

you don't write
or call

I get it though

you're too busy
but aren't we all

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