this item cannot be returned

don’t return my love back to me
it was never for sale, and won’t be
as good to anyone else,
even after a 30 day mark
don’t take me on a trial run, then tie
me up in a dark black garbage bag
sent off like the rest, the rest now thought
of as less when they were once
all thought of as chosen, if not even the best

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backdated post a day poem for October 11th, 2017

soda can heart

empty wrinkled soda cans
sound more painful, colder
when their shoulders are drug
across wintry roads
and icy bleacher stands
they are already crumpled
but when kicked, they skip and
walk across pavement,
you can hear again and again
what it felt like, the noise of
their hearts and bones
being bent and broken by
stones thrown by lips
who only wanted the sweet
insides, tossed away
when it was all gone, gone

___
backdated post a day poem for October 12th, 2017

old winter man

have you ever seen winter?
he’s an old man, sitting in a corner
of a dimly lit social gathering,
everyone gathering, barking words
all falling short at his feet, his lips
sleep without much to say
soft wide eyes cold and white from all
of the broken hopes that rise
and settle into the arms on the moon
you sometimes feel his wistfulness
when a chill walks in and tries to
curl up to keep warm in the room

___
backdated post a day poem for October 13, 2017

winter in a frumpy coat

those solid white skies that hang
limp and wet, soggy milk rags
about to wring out their gloomy
boohoos all over me, i try to
see the sun but just see a tall
glass of watery milk, ready
to dump itself all over the heads
of trees – it’s okay, even the skies
sometimes need to be rung out to dry
tearing wind through our hair
poking us with sharp, cold sighs

rain baby, teething

rain showed me a
wet, hungry face
he chewed at the
edges of my jeans
and umbrella, drooling
all over the place,
angry, he stuck out
his fists, shouting –
rattling thunder – and
then quietly settled
into a tiny slumber

pillow talk

the rain wanted to undo
the sun, peel off her
layers, pin her across a blue
sky turned grey –
unwind the threads, one by one
even if they were frayed
to love each hue down
into the ground, see her
true colors bloom, not fade –
arching her back, she listened closer
to what the rain had to say

disconnected

telephones probably hate hearing
us drone on and on, filling
their heads with drama and
trivialities – which is why we
are sometimes greeted with
unfriendly dial tones, phones too busy,
lacking desire to hear about
our realities

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