poetry

I have a blister, the inevitable product of Friction and confined spaces. I limp home slowly. Funny how a little toe Can make you cry. Nature’s cushion: A shield of newly-killed skin and fluid preserving its replacement. Soon the dead skin will fall away New skin in its place, no pain. A callous remains.

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Summer ceded to Autumn in the span of mere hours ahead of schedule. It goes like that. One day, this way The next, that. Different signal colors atop Crumbling infrastructure. Seasons altered by misdirected currents Sweeping away one way For the next. As Summer lay down Among thistles and weeds Her intact heart lay just [...]

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