Poem: Night Bird

Poem: Walking by the Gate of Atoll Lanta Resort Life

Walking by the Gate of Atoll Lanta Resort Life A yellow sheet of halogen light splashes on the blue plastic chair, spilling shadows on the grass beside the guard shack at the gate of Atoll Lanta Resort Life. The chair is vacant, warped and faded like the walls of Van Gogh’s bedroom — misshapen lines unstraightened, bent to a better degree of artistic fantasy. I imagine the quiet man who sat for hours in the sun until his brown skin blackened like a piece of tropical fruit plucked from a palm tree before the sea-breeze shook it loose.

Poem: Girl in the Market

Girl in the Market Girl in the market wearing blue skinny jeans and a tight navy blazer with the tailcoats hanging out like a flag over her ass plump as an unpeeled peach wrapped in faded denim and the caramel sheen of her ankles strapped in black leather stilettos unnecessarily sexy for shopping solo for dinner — her hair chopped shoulder- length, dyed a faded shade of orange like a flickering flame that’s blazed for too many days on not enough tinder. My gaze mustn’t linger — I turn away.

Poem: Night Bird

Night Bird (a fictional fantasy) This moment will become a memory forgettable but for these words, the night bird calling out a steady pitch of E-flat tapering off into a warble with no reply — his question echoing into the shadows an unrequited love song. It’s been a long time coming till you finally texted me, months of waiting for you to initiate a greeting I thought would never bloom. I let you loose like the ribbon of a helium- filled balloon, I blew salty kisses to the crescent moon, until you settled like a fallen flower in the palm of my open chest and rested — a feathered muse coming home to roost in the nest of my fluttering heart.

Poem: Purge

Purge If I don’t write something soon l’Il burst in a flurry of pent up frustration like a pigeon popping from gastrointestinal inflation — that could be me today, a feathery confetti. If I don’t get these words out on the page fast my head might crack, my car might crash — spraying stardust and moonshine on the side of the highway to high heaven. I must relieve this aching urge for a poetic purge and whatever shouts come out shall be fodder for the birds.

Poem: Midnight Sonnet

Midnight Sonnet I cannot shake the angst of wanting more The door quakes on its hinge a darker hue A bluer moon of heartache hugs the roof 'Tis proof the sun is shining somewhere else Or else it would be blackened in the sky So why should I be worried were it not The hottened houses of the neighborhood Withstood the cleansing UV light of day I say that I am all together lost The cost of living weighing like a chain The changing of the seasons blowing in The thimble of a thought forsaking time A sign of needing something to fulfill Until the fix is fed with dopamine