“Dotage”
Aging gracefully,
With an eye for dementia
I recognize celestial impotence
Floating in my soup.
The architecture to scale,
Yet somehow out of proportion.
My creator, a diminutive man
Spilling forth in an over-sized suit,
Does not fit into his body.
Though I have burst into mine.
“Manqué”
Inspired by the part of
You,
That does not belong to
Me,
(nor you)
To settle inside
Of a brushfire –
I don’t want to
Make small offerings
In your name
To the love I keep
From myself
Smoldering.
“Winter Parodies”
It happens like cold air
Filtering the warmth
That clings to my insides.
This is winter. Nature dictates
That everything must be moving slower.
There is an attention to detail
That presents itself to
Each individual block of matter.
I see snowflakes
Floating precariously unaware
Of all these circumstances.
This is winter: A set
Moment of deliverance
In relief of itself.
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