The clouds finally release their burden,
Feeling themselves suddenly empty,
Missing the drops of moisture that used to nestle within that now seal the sky with white.
The snow falls like dots on an old TV screen,Its bunny ear antennas finally failing in old age.
Muffled silence. Shh! Do not disturb.
The wind echoes through the trees,
Whispering airplanes lamenting the freedom of flight.
The snow plummets from the sky
Arrows
shot by a hidden enemy
But this is a friendly kind of war,
The intended targets only becoming chillier.
The wind chimes peal occasionally in delight,
Shaken by the frigid gust that slants the snowfall
I exhale, my breath warm as it clouds past my lips,
it swirls back to envelop me, as if in thanks.

*The world is quiet here.

Which came first, the chicken
or the egg?
Us, we are in love
with  the  chickens.  
We  want   to know  
why.  
Is  it  really  any  of  our business
why that  chicken crosses the road?
And us, even though we ponder
despite our curiosity
will never  know.  
Chicken  first,  egg
second, vice versa.
Or maybe
they appeared at the same time
created  out  of nothing.

I seem to be a mouth, but really I am an ear
be careful of what you sayforI will pick up hansel’s crumbs. 

I seem to be bold, but really I am italic
to be a leaf when I want to be a tree
grown from a seed of rebellion. 

I seem to be naïve, but really I am wise
still, it’s hard not to fall behind in the race
to stumble and lose the prize. 

I seem to be a story, but really I am a memory
takingthe cookies from the oven, I think

what is life these days?

The back hides a smiling face smirking
quietly
at us as it announces the sun.
The gray sheen of its metal membrane twinkles
dully
inviting us to hurl it to the floor.
Its uneven ticking
a stumbling old man
Then silence.
Its life spun out by the twirling blades
The minute hand creeps
stealthily
unnoticed by irritated ears
                                                  until you notice your life has
passed
you
by.

skirts rustle across the floor
whispers of movement
and conversation, the conversations!
voices fill the room to the rafters
brimming with that peculiar sound
(and the occasional snubbed toe)
while in the background,
unnoticed save as the source of everything
fists raised for the next passage
black and brown in synchronized movement
the body drones, chucks falling in heartbeats
but the mechanics do not worry him
while his background hums in boredom
he is thinking about the prince in common time
stately marching fanfare
with a tinge of melancholy
so vivid in his eyes
the picture so vivid as if he was marching in that very room
destined to marry the girl
arranged by his well meaning parents
pretty enough but...
that other girl catches his eye
his heartbeat
his passion
how does he choose?
here come the boom chuck chucks
that elusive three four
cueing waltzes with each and both
whirling around the floor
a reflection of reality…
but this is their reality
how, can he choose?
but in the end, it’s his duty that calls him
his duty calls
in this big bright burning yellow room
no happily ever after for this fairytale prince

They sell it in bulk, in packs of many
It is not a rarity here
it would be back home.
They do not cherish it
it is often lost.
But I marvel at the smooth wood
lined with rock throughout, and topped with sap of trees!
It resembles a tree, bitten by a paddle-tailed creature,
one end sharpened to a deadly point.
This rock, it communicates with other people.
The sap can erode it, erase the mineral completely.
What kind of strange,
miraculous thing
can destroy rock
with such little
effort
?