Pastiche

An amalgamation of one or two lines from every poem I’ve written for my AgoraPoetry series! Enjoy that’s like clouds without the sky. my voice has its own poweran ignition, somewhere. as though a faraway brush has brought us all into existence up up and up it is no surprise now  the whispers of warmthContinue reading “Pastiche”

The Painter

Photocopied trees circle me,And I feel as though I am being painted,As though a far away brush has brought us all into existence– Then a child runs too carelessly,falls on their face,And the painting is slightly torn.

Contortionist

I’ve often found myself contorting,squeezing into other peoples’ boxes.Maybe it’s because I’m small.I can fit into places easily. But my stomach hangs over my legs,petruding over the line. Stuffing never helps. Hiding can often reveal more than what was hidden. So I stopped contorting.

Flash

Maybe they use a light bulb,because memory is only aflash,a quip of a quick blinding burn – – a faint tingling remainson the tip of my thumb, but I don’t know where it came from,I don’t remember how it happened. “What was I saying again?”