Above the clouds, with the stars, sits a lighthouse full of books which wrap around the winding staircase until the tower’s peak hits the ceiling of the universe. At this peak is a light which shines through a window. A long trail of gold which glitters brighter than any pot at a rainbow’s end. Those …
How to Turn to Childhood for Inspiration
Thoughts on the Future, Looking to the Past The value of childhood lies not in the experiences the child hastily wishes themselves out of but in the years later, as the child stands with eyes toward the future and a grateful heart cast to the past. Long ago, if we pull back the vine of …
When Rivers Flowed on Mars: Drabble 1
To reach the tower it took five hundred steps which wound the mountain in the shape of a cobra, curled under its den of sky. We laughed, we dreamed, we counted stars. We hopped the galaxies and rode the comets, kicking dandelion seeds toward the moon. In the summer the tower rose with the grace …
Leftovers: A Memory Mused
I lost Life. Possibly down the side
between clock and computer.
Occupied scrolling photos,
making love to memories.
As if they made stretched
cirriform clouds.
That made overhead
personalized flurries.
Complete with lightning.
Ripe for paparazzi.
Nimbus clouds, too.
Whirling with baby snuffles
Rhyming to a mobile
Trilling Chopin.
Because babies need education.
In the Art of Angst.
I think Life might have dropped down the toilet.
Last week I lost my toothbrush.
My reflections fault.
I lost count of my pores. How many pixels
before I resemble sand?
I make up a tossed salad
Of halogen lightbulb dust.
A teaspoon of room temperature milk.
My body overheats to the taste
Of blue cheese electronics.
Blend and repeat.
Tie up the ribbons.
Dance with your childhood before
the grave drops life down the roots of a flower.