Poetry – Minor bouts of mania

minor bouts of mania
fun guy
get things done
depressed
sit in dark room
give me
whatever I want
clean the house
contact
reach out
talkative
grocery store line
love me
they all love me
bulldoze you all

Prose Poetry – Houseplants

I murder houseplants. Not intentionally, mind you, but the result is still the same…dead flowers, dead leaves, dead roots. I’m pretty sure I’ve even killed the dirt (if that’s possible).

Regardless, for some unintelligible reason, people keep gifting the little pots of green hope to me. I swear, sometimes I’m convinced I can hear their little floral voices begging for mercy and a swift end as their tiny veins dry out and the edges of their delicate fronds curl up, eventually crinkling, splintering, and fluttering down to settle on the ceramic base below.

Over time, I’ve learned to look away from this process, as it tends to bring me down. I only wish I could grant my victims a similar solace.

Prose poetry – Jigsaw Puzzle

Last night, I dreamt I was a jigsaw puzzle – a background of deep, midnight blue, sprinkled with golden stars. Someone came along and broke me apart, my round edges curling up as they separated.

Thin fingers pierced the middle of each cardboard edge with green metal hooks, the kind used to hang Christmas bulbs. Each piece of me was then threaded and hung from the ceiling.

Soon, I found myself twisting and turning upon the whims of the air current – 500 paper flares, now a floating constellation.