under some
skeletal trees
dreaming of
their sugar-
spun ballroom

a man on a
sly spindle bicycle
his voice
shadowy beside me
a steely permafrost

come on, —
i’ll race you

and though i hyper focused
on catching that
slick-wit peddler
he vaporized straight ahead

my unforced forfeit
at this ghost turn



Little Bit

Unprepared, without a poem
I remember something about
a locket, or a lozenge
that will fit neatly
into any girl’s locket.
But of course I haven’t
owned a locket since I
was twelve, without reason.
So once again I’m left
with that feeling
of holding a little
bit, my fingers
grasping for life’s
tricky golden clasp.

Day 2 NaPoWriMo
at Real Toads