on wordlessness

this is a warning.
exclamation point on the
thinnest paper towel.
the coffee, hot and unkind
to my doubts, while tea
continues to sit and fade.

this is beyond me.
the simplest explanations
are sometimes correct,
even when you cannot believe
that they’re worth far more
than discounted groceries.

this is daunting.
streetlights blast red when
dissidents cross and pamphlets
written out of sheer insomnia
shiver on the asphalt, wordless.

this is opacity.
closed doors grow more heavy
than your palms can bear
to push, and tangled rules choke
on the feeble breath of yearning.

Cat No. 129 of the 500 Cats Project

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simplicity

the ice melts unevenly.

frost on the edge of a colorless plane, and
a frayed sense of time.

$0.99 cup of spicy mayo
makes my day, makes me smile.

you are the macadamia,
courting the chocolate
as if it needs a guide.

pigeons want what I cannot afford,
bok choy on rice.

every little sweet counts
and cries with the pop
of my salmon knuckles.

I blush as cherry trees fall.

you and me
down Hackberry street.

forgetting that the north
is soft and tucked aside.

Cat No. 128 of the 500 Cats Project

opening act

I walk a tightrope that rivals a spider web.
breathe me in, see me out.
the raindrops sting when they want to,
needles into fleshy thumbs.

love these hands which visit peace,
for they are dry and chapped
as my unquiet lips
that relay secrets, better left
unspun and elongated.

judge me harshly,
if you have the time.

take me through the scarlet
and all the confetti, pink and flat
across dappled paths
downtrodden with whispers
and flooded with sighs of white.

I yell the lyrics authored by youth.
see me past all you’ve known.
the water rushes as the sky defies,
orchids filling modest homes.

Cat No. 127 of the 500 Cats Project

fears

coming from ambivalence,
looking right to left, and then
left to right as if reading some
language I’ve become too
acquainted with.

the day becomes gray
and the ground feels
sharp, harsh enough
to awaken several snails,
tenacious in their nap time
and steady in solemn thought.

the stop signs blend into
some tangerine sunset, six
sides fallen onto the hot surface
as I look over my shoulder
to contest your fear.

Cat No. 126 of the 500 Cats Project

query

nothing short of questionable.

wrapped in the glee felt in snowflakes’
kisses, I slowly blink and breathe
in time with a bicycle’s push through
summer unbound, summer that has thrusted
its demands onto hope that rings
against clear, but speckled glass.

the thinnest twigs are broken.

tennis balls roll into candied curbs
bright as the brick of a first home,
and tulips sit in aquamarine cups once
used to serve spry ice cream and appease
grand expectations of the younger crowd,
hurrying into endeavors sharp and unplanned.

hearing the static, pining to dream.

Cat No. 125 of the 500 Cats Project

ball games

lavender under the pillow
informs me that I’ve learned
a more efficient method
for sound reflection.

puddles at the end
ripple, while nimble
ants peer over the edge
of frayed leaves, dry
and bloodless, like
shells and hollow time.

I am the guest.
you are my keeper.

shadows grow thin
as clocks strike six.

Cats No. 123 and 124 of the 500 Cats Project

eyeing the caffeine

delays in good old customer
service, the batching of
work, duplication of minutes
across a pastel wall shielded
by obituaries for spiteful
clouds, rounded in their
tired introspection and moot
rebuttals, hissingly solemn.

first day back, eight tall
canisters of coffee burn
while the power goes out
and we look around, see
how many slips need a
home, a pinch, cardstock
in the brightest blue, my
coveted stamps finding
refuge in the bag of our
most reliable deliveries.

first-time consultations are
really just several prolonged
rounds of peekaboo, but we
often write up stories as to
why no one saw us, and why
no one sees us pouring life’s
catalysts the way pretty folks
do, poised and undistracted.

Cat No. 122 of the 500 Cats Project