A Believer

He woke to tastebuds vying to recall

green grass’ wet scent–

Granny Smith, tart and crisp.

Sits on his palate in a yellow house

in somewhere Indiana

bitter roots and semi-rot instead.


What Can I Say

What Can I Say

about that day

you left treads

to mark the start

of scuffed roads

to map the toll

bared that day.

Only that I miss

your smile today

when the days end

that I can’t suspend.

To remember times

when we used to play

amongst the bales

of…hey, you stole

my ruby shoes.

Lost to bandits now,

smoke in the woods.

You hid best in blades

of grass to remove

eyes skipped over you

pebbles the gap

to stich your lost breath.