church

under some
skeletal trees
dreaming of
their sugar-
spun ballroom
days

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

come on, —
i’ll race you
lady

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

forcing
my unforced forfeit
at this ghost turn

::

at Omni

   There are limits

to the five, mortal senses.

    There are no limits

beyond.

at omni salon
karen knows everything,
has an opinion on anything, —

the penal system, the color of spring,
the mortgage rates, take your first offer,
does that make her brash
she wants to know?
she quickly moves on to
the next topic, —

karen’s at peace
with her mom after what she saw
do you believe?
karen queries
for two milliseconds
and continues, —

we weren’t voice talking,
mom and i,
we were talking with our minds
do you know what i mean?
we all shake our heads
up and down about visitors
who come to say
you’ve got to move on
i’m at peace, not in pain, —

and in karen’s case, it’s not what you think
it was a willing overdose
to which karen said, okay then!
ever since she’s been getting out of bed,
brushing her hair, coming here to Omni
talk, talk, talking, —

in voice talk for us bobble-head believers
listening to her go on while she gets her nails done
in whatever luminescence best befits eternity’s bloom, —

21: NaPoWriMo and Real Toads

Katie’s ghosts

to sleeping babes
beneath our feet, —

it is better to have never
made your bed to lie in it
it is better to have never
been born then,
better to have never
known scratched up earth,
her poisoned, snappy seas,

it is better to have never
pressed in to ask what is grass,
what is green?

it is better to have never
known color
for now they dream drearily how
in their stolen pieces of time
before which was called
sky, not ceiling

(oh, but i’ve dared too much)

but you, –
happy stillborn seeds,
it is better to have never
slack-mouthed, sucked dry
every scarecrow teat

there’s no sleep babes,
there’s no sleep,
but we pray you, —
beneath our feet

::

3: NaPoWriMo and Real Toads