Category: Poetry

  • Stop lights.

    They’re off to points unknown. As they move about in their daily dramas, they hasten a decaying.The price is unknown but the value comes in red and green.Bright lights to indicate how much time should be traded for the privilege of driving.What could be so important?

  • Gray parts.

    The parts of me that are him have gone gray, robbed of their vibrancy.By the rain, absent son.He’s on the round edges of every drop.Save for the feeling sort.Talk to me about the whether.