Untitled Poem #12

I think about you always,
Although we’ll never meet,
And yet in only thinking
I find we are complete.

I think about you always,
And wish that I was yours,
But strange how in the thinking
We’re kept on different shores.

Dig A Hole

My barren mind will oftentimes
Grasp for levelled words,
Its fallow field’s infertile,
Dreams dissolved to dirt.

I’d try to shake myself awake
Like thorns within a curse;
Letters in life’s word-game rattle,
A rib-cage emptied verbs.

Unpaid workers dug a hole,
They formed a pile of earth;
They bound me to a bloodied pole
Not far from my place of birth.

I did not even question how
These trap doors are not doors;
A lever, flattened oak-wood opened,
As out my soul then poured.