Coins Between Bed Sheets

A jingling between sheets

at 1am, 2am, 3am.

Coins caught in coverlets,

trapped to tink off each other

as the clock wears time thin

until pinks and oranges light eastern skies

and the alarm clock sounds trumpets for a new day.

Jousting in the Dark

Turning words in my head

like the pen between my fingers

or like switching the shoulder the lance rests on

just before meeting your opponent,

or is it more like pulling the polished sword from the sheath

in darkness

with nobody there?

Maybe it’s juggling those words

and dropping them on the ground

like a clown that hasn’t practiced enough,

but fortunately nobody is looking yet

as I

pen curly waves,

because that phrase isn’t quite right

and in front of a painted sunrise,

but that one’s kind of cliche.

Maybe hide and seek footprints

or is that one too ambiguous?

Words like moments are riddled with imperfections,

but isn’t that the beauty in the world?

Stepping on the Carousel

Arms through black waters,

a coldness that wasn’t there before,

a feeling of terror, sheer terror.

A store

and voices

and smells,

an exploded pouch

of art supplies all running together.

The concept of words not coming,

but the absence of voice bleeding

into the air in purples,


and greens.

Swirling clouds

and the sound of a bird

breaking the tangible silence

with squawks that are more words

or chirps that are more screams

or tweets almost human,

but are indecipherable

to my ears.


buried in warmth

my heart runs

but my body is very still…

a return to this darkness

greets me with an array of

happiness and disappointment,

but mostly heavy eyes.

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