emmett

that’s the magic of dreaming
having nothing

needing nothing
like the careless summers

of childhood
we stand on the banks of tomorrow

throwing out our dreams 
like stones over a pond

In the morning
while the sun refuses to wake 
and the fingernails of the sky 
glow maroon
I find myself hanging 
in a veil of wet silence

this moment is fragile
like the first ice
on a woodland pond

lunchroom table
Monday’s pile of lost souls
me — among the missing

seconds
walk me by 
dragging their feet
on the cold square tile

not boredom
these people
carry the visage of indifference 

I always seem 
to lose myself
in the clouds

the towering
ever shifting columns 
of ashy smoke

how they dance 
in the morning sun
like the memory

of an almost 
forgotten ballet

You gaze up
and wonder
what wicked person 
pushes you down

I gaze up 
and realize
what a fool I am
for thinking I am crushed

 

from here, your
songs are the wind, blowing
over this lake. i stand 

on this muddied beach of mine, feet
bare, enjoying the southern breeze.
it is soft and caring, it is

you; like all wind, it caries