Other Poems

 

***

 

When do the training wheels

come off, when

does the truth come out?

These lies are nice,

but surely they get

boring,

like flowers

or sex

with the same person.

 

Why do we all keep living

anyway?

I mean really,

which blunt impossibility,

like a wild stallion,

are we chasing after now?

Surely love

must be the best game

to play,

the only way

to fly.

 

 

* * *

 

The feel of the grass 'neath your toes

Your compass guides with magnetic woes

You finally arrive at your plot

To find all the trees in a rot

Through which a lone seedling shows.

2015