There is a wishing well where I live,
filled with coins down the bottom,
some are shiny, some old, some rusting into the water.
Circles of copper, silver, aluminum and gold.
Here I will take a bet,
throw my first quarter into the pond,
There it falls with a bubbly thud.
Day by day I will sit by it, murmur a silent prayer,
Doing nothing as the sun set.
So when the dawn comes,
I will get exactly the opposite
of what I wished for,
My coin lost among the thousands,
In this miraculous wishing well.

if this is what emotions are
hot water pounding down on my skin
the taste of stale alcohol trying to create some essence
of numbness
the words of music so loud in an attempt to drown out
the ache that my heart brings with each beat
I don’t want it
I don’t want any part of it

the way clouds swirl
like milk in grey tea
when it rains

In gravest, gravels of untouched soil,
Spearhead of purple, beyond the pale,
One statue of siege upon a windy foil,
What mires meek airs in all you survey?

Like a frost of summers, you are lord,
To hold that seed in your spiny face,
Depressions of land your promontory,
All up with arms, iron clad as a mace,

Beneath you, the grown motley fields
Are desolate, all flowers bled, blender,
Spiders and birds know you unyielding
The lost aleatory scent of no surrender.