The Haunting

Haunted by voices, the only child sees
shadows pass by. When he closes
his eyes, he can still see the demons
haunting him. Noise fills the still air.
Haunted by those who won’t leave,
he stays up all night. One night,
the only child hears his name being called.
Afraid and awake, he walks toward
the voice calling his name. He gets
close enough to see a ballpoint pen
lodged between a blank journal.
The only child picks up the pen, filling
up the blank pages. He writes, “I’m not
real” over and over. The voices stop,
and the shadows disappear. The only
child closes the journal, then the curtains
are thrown open. The shining light
illuminates his transparent face.
The light shines right through.
Surrounded by life, the only child sees
his future then jumps into the past. It felt
so real for him. He almost forgot, he was
a lurking shadow, once alive and well.
The only child visits the blank journal
now and again to encounter memories
once made, remembered, and forgot.

Find Something

Find something to do –
to keep you busy –
to keep you sane.
Find anything to do –
just don’t do nothing.
Nothing can keep you
from doing something.
Anything is better than
nothing. Don’t stay
still – fill your time
finding something
to do: be quick, but
don’t hurry
. Don’t
worry. You will find
your way: yourself.
You will find some –
thing that keeps you
going – living. You
will find something
that will become
nothing. You must
create resistance,
listen, and lessen
the distance between
Hell and Heaven.

Flights into the Abyss

When I take flight,
I start to feel alright.
Flying high is scary
When I lose sight
of the light
as day turns night.
It’s frightening
not knowing
where you’re going,
whether or not
the weather is showing:
Whether or not
the wind is blowing:
Whether or not
the waters are flowing.
Flying away today,
I take off
into the abyss.
I am the only one
with a ticket.
I fly away
to a place most miss
to show others
why we should risk it.
I wave goodbye
as I enter the sky.
I fly one last time
as day turns night.

Kitchen Hunter

Your spiky Spock ears could intercept
alien transmissions and signal in lost kitchens
miles away. Your eye sockets could home
large meatballs and hold milk like a cereal bowl.
Your watery lips closed like an elevator
to protect drool and spit from escaping.
I can see my bushy eyebrows and squinted
eyes in the reflection of your red lipstick.
Your nose vacuumed up a gravy scented cloud
and pointed me in the right direction.
Your nose long like a jousting weapon
capable of prevailing over any kitchen contender.
I fell back to observe your juicy buns.
A trail of shedding hair floated down
like snowflakes leaving a path of stranded
spaghetti noodles that could lead us back
to the living room. The digital photo frame
on the kitchen counter revealed a seventh grade
version of you, but regretted it when you sent a flying
hand in the photo frame’s direction.
Your hands are the ones seen holding beautiful
tacos and hamburgers on fast food commercials.
Your hands are powerful  enough to unlock any
Fridge’s mysteries. Your brain is elusive enough
to choose between mustard or ketchup, chicken or pork,
cold pizza or salad. The fridge door swung open,
slamming the counter and shaking up condiments
hiding from us. The freezer door followed. The icy finish
of Rocky Road ice cream shined like 24 fresh carrots.
I extended my arm and retrieve the prize.
I ran my finger along the cardboard, carving
up the frost. I pulled  my glistening finger tip away
and reveal a smiley face.  She pressed closer
to me raising up her finger. She etched in a heart
to the right of my smiley face.
It’s not too bad falling in love twice.