#terrace
There is no service,
the terrace serves us itself --
As a meeting place.
Jun 23, 2025
Jun 23, 2025 at 3:50 AM UTC
Existence stretched through a detour,
two spots; unknown in direction.
Turning left when it was right before,
keep all guessing, slide past detection.
I’m not a one stop shop,
once I housed hand crafted originality.
With the increase in demand I let my guard drop,
and now both my shelves and insides are empty.
I believed in a watcher behind me,
I held onto tight to an invisible thread.
Everyone is just silently constantly reminding me,
I’m isolated and alone even in my head.
I hear the loud pop of plastic against plastic,
feeling both relief and shame simultaneously.
Side slipping and back breaking; I thought myself a gymnastic,
though incredulous was the thought of even competing.
But I was sleeping in a Chinese finger trap,
so assured that I would choose to make it a womb.
You couldn’t hear a pin drop but with the concept of a single tap,
ears would shake and ring as if it were a sonic boom.
I’ve got nothing but dirt and dust on my shoulders
I pass it off as glitter and simple magic.
I show no signs of tiring from passing back all the boulders
if I didn’t let them slide it would almost be tragic.
Pardon my complacent self involuntary involvement,
and excuse me while I perform dramatic ironies.
Preparing the conscious for the next inevitable instalment
of prepared monologues of justifications and fallacies.
And I can’t but think in this instance,
I remember the episode of The Simpsons
where Homer is outcasted for screaming “aliens”
and he drinks himself out of existence.
“Red M&M, blue M&M,
they’re all the same colour in the end.”
Feb 16, 2020
Feb 16, 2020 at 7:36 AM UTC
Windows sneezing past the trees.
Other flowers streak past with snarls.
Vitality of descending moment,
springs forth prior to the receding dusk.
A woman cleans her garden terrace.
Rehearsing for the next guests’ visit.
But then she left.
A boy jumps to a swing chair,
catches up with a butterfly breeze.
He wondered and asked,
could you help, if she is left there?
Gesmoi’s solo bark has no echos.
And then recedes silently.
Prior to his hind-paw stretch steadily.
Gesmoi’s barking voice is lasting.
Long breath after a finger click.
Dismount and leave the garden ride,
day dream.
Jul 30, 2019
Jul 30, 2019 at 9:29 AM UTC
*I wondered how the moon
Was superbly beautiful.
Taking chances to climb up high
And more higher than usual reach,
Just to admire it more than ever.
I spoke with a girl of age 8,
Explaining her about the supermoon
She asked supermoon?
After understanding it
She said wait, wait.
Let's go to the terrace
And admire it together.*
Jan 2, 2018
Jan 2, 2018 at 2:09 PM UTC