Poetry – Is there meaning here?

Is there meaning here?
I stare into space
oblivious to all
but my own numbness,
hoping for a call -
a beckoning voice
to draw me back
from the edge
of my self-imposed exile.
Drop the feathery gauze
from these old, battered lenses
and push me
if necessary
out of the warm niche
carved long ago
in this mount of regret.

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.