Birds gossip in the arms of the red maple.
Rays of the Milky Way's brightest star, warms
the back of the copper-eared, old hound.
He sits on the single patch of grass persevering
in dry soil of a rainless spring. Abandoned yard.
The hound sits against a backdrop of neatly
stacked bricks, indicating an air pump of
life breathing on the hounds unfulfilled oasis.
Rogue saplings lay vanquished- roots up,
bundled in preparation for weekly collection.
Uninvited soil-guests spot the yard with a
deluding shade of jealousy green like the
luscious grass over the hedge- deceit

The intricate box you build
you construct with plastic bricks
sifting through compartments, searching
for the perfect fit. Perfectly enclosed.

           Closed off.

Deconstruct your day, lost within
the pieces snapped together, ironically
like twigs snapping in two upon
the trail you wander your life

            alone.

A man, a dog, and an endless
digital trail of artificial connection.
Seeking to take in what strengthens,
avoiding exposure like kryptonite.

           The dream.

Interrupted, REM ceased. Found her.
Foundation mixed of messages, dried.
Upon which to stand. He on 1st,
Her on 3rd, poised to run. Pitch.
A triple. A review. He cheated.

           Crushed.

The city bus jostles down the street
On every other seat a *** rests
As I glance around I see shoes
Instead of bare feet.
As I glance around I see pants
Instead of shorts.

When I look down
I see my gladiators, fuchsia accented
When I look down
I see my ten piggies with coral paint

I ascend up to my loosely pleated
Polka-dotted, monochrome smock
Sliced in half by the strap of my
simple, salmon, cross-body satchel
Sitting ever so obediently at my hip

I reach to eliminate a treacherous itch
Feeling my perfectly formed pleat
A pleat adorned with a moss rose
Itching without disturbing a pleat
Is always a tricky task to undertake
I find myself asking if it's in my head
If it's floating through my mind
like the smoke of the mind altering substance
That floats through my brain

I glance around the stopped bus
No one is moving, we are stopped.
So why am I still jostling in my seat
Like the bus is jostling down the street?

Can't see you
Can't call you
Can't hug you
But I can feel you
In my triumphs
I feel you
In my disappointments
I feel you
In the sunshine
I feel you
So how, I wonder
Can you be gone?

Forbidden touch,
Burns the skin
And schemes to
Pull the mind
Into a reality
Made of falsities
And feelings
Of lust.