from p.4 on Mon., Nov. 16th

A call to home,
trapped words, foul mouths.

Phone like creaks.

Interrogated under a lamp-post,
funnel of light.

The phoneline clicks.
I say goodbye after the fact.


-----


Confusion painted her
face like Picasso.

Pain painted her face
like Van Gogh.

Colors coated her porcelain
white skin like spilled
wine on a shirt tossed in
dye and mud.


-----


The road beneath
the duct.

Somewhere
the car drives.

Snow gathered by the street.

from p.1 on Mon., Nov. 16th

A chain and shackle

lock me in place.

The phone rings,

mimicking a thousand

small bees in a bag.

The paycheck holds me 

here. And over my

counter, 

a rusty and dilapidated form asks

for directions.

-----

The blistering rage

could only be calmed by the smooth

glaze of the donut.

It's blueberry dots like a 

cloud on a hot day.

I understand, though.

We haev both snapped,

but in different ways.

All we want is to be left alone.

-----

Watching all

from teh sky they fall

falling

falling

down around my seat.

from Monday, November 9th

The frost on my windshield
crusts-over and covers my
car.

I walk outside into the evening

Shaking and shivering, watching
my breath go
with the wind.


-----


The wrinkly old
woman behind the
counter.

counted change from
the register.

And very softly sang
John Melloncamp lyrics
to herself
on a sunny day.


-----


You spew poison from
your slippery mouth.
It rains down on me,
covers me,
until it burns deep
into my throat.

We promised that
we'd never become this,
but somehow,
I always knew you'd
end up this way.


-----


Sorry,
but poetry has escaped me
it left in the morning
before I could say bye.

It's gone

and I don't know
if it will come back.

I guess
we'll try again
next weekend.

from p.4 on Mon., Nov. 2nd

Leaves are on
the ground.

A college essay is on
my desk.

I didn't get any candy.

Halloween sucked.

-----

"It will be okay,"

the unanswering words

melt away

as the seeds of doubt are sewn.

Forever thinking "I'm not good enough,"

never realizing the flower

growing out of the concrete:

its petals damaged

yet it perseveres.

-----

The water fell,

it traveled up her

feet, slinked past her 

knee, and softly 

harbored into her eye.

For she didn't cry,

and if she did they

would always find

their way back to 

her.

from p.1 on Mon., Nov. 2nd

People talk, but
nothing is said.

Only sounds of
insecurities and
lies.


-----


A lonesome dirt road,
crunch of tires,
one bridge,

haunted by the past.

The battle drums echo through the valley.


-----


Chocaliate milk cows and lullabies,
quench a baby's thirst to cry
in remembrance of the good times, we watch Bill Nye.

Nowadays, barely anyone tries
thanks to the bright,
colorful, newpants
hodge-podge.


-----


Wake from your sleep,
look at the one you love,

go to school,
go to work,

sleep.

Wash, rinse, repeat.