Tag Archives: poet

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?”