Look Up

I’ve stood in the house of your wings and listened to you flap to the beat of time. 

Open and close to show your beauty to the world. 

Just a glimpse, and then you’re off. 

Flying so high, I’m forced to squint to find you again.

Is that your hope? 

To keep me looking up? 

I will look to you forever.

A House of Books

I want to live between the pages of an old book.

Let the faded print sustain my hunger.

Let the dull, curled pages shelter me from the cold outside. 

The musty smell would be my new perfume. 

I’d live here in this worn and weathered world until the binding breaks. 

Fractal Dreams

Our dreams are not linear.

We live terrible lives in the dark of night.

As the brakes screech over and over. I see you sitting next to me.

As the glass breaks over and over. I hear you telling me goodbye.

These soft sheets yield dark lives in the terrible of night.

Golden honey sticks and butterfly wings.

Fractals of the truth.

Another knife digs into my abdomen. I hear you whisper goodbye.

Another tube goes down my throat. I see you sitting next to me.

Just a peak of light slowly creeps into the muscles of my mind.

As I begin to wake,

the wings flap one last time.

 

 

The Hope of Tomorrow 

In every hurt there is a hope. 

A hope that tomorrow will be different. 

A hope that every question will be answered. 

A hope that the struggle will end and life will begin again. 

So go ahead and hurt today.

Tomorrow is full of hope. 

Marx’s Grave

Our bellies are full of grass-fed, pasture raised, hormone free eggs

Our flannels are tired around our waists

We are going to change the world

Mason jars line our shelves

We are preservative free

Our conscious is woke

Our microbrews and faux leather shoes

Show you that we know better

We tweet and tag about it all from our rose gold iphones

We’re not a slave to the production line

You can’t sell to us

Can’t you see? My beef is lactose free.

 

Sweet Dreams

My dreams are a labyrinth, and I’m reluctantly waiting for Pan.

Twists and turns that I cannot intelligently escape.

Why are you here?

What can this mean?

Into the woods.

Into the woods.

The hot air balloon whisks me to the sky with another skeleton at the helm.

My mistakes on repeat.

Sweet dreams.

The Monarch’s Wings

When I died, 

my soul burst into an infinite number of butterflies.

When you need me, 

look for the flap of a small, orange wing.

Listen for my flutter.

I will migrate with you until the day that you become a butterfly too.