All Things Confused

A dog with newspaper spots, barking wherever he goes.


I moved a


The indention made an impact.

The gross mud of my desecration,

Which my fingers wrought,

Has been a cause of consternation.


Things move without notice

And cannot be found,

On top of a shelf

Or under a bed.

We pace around

Until we find

They were in someplace

We chose ourselves.


The sun was bright,

My squinted eyes could

Not fully see.

And, if in this light,

I was blind, then

What is thought of me?

Should I try to help the world,

Will it wince and leave?

Despite the transience

Of the glow, I

Hope that it’s received.


dog-eared pages are bent

but I love those folds

the distorted words

become ours alone

No Escape

Loose ends are tied with knots.

Removal is chaos.

Deft hands may find

A different design.

Nothing can be undone.


It is easy to keep something

In a storage bin.

But cleaning

Makes me think again.


I cannot explain

Why I never spurn.

So in the dark

My heart returns.

The Grunt

Grunts are small

And common.

When stirred,

They are heard,

But have one breath

Before death.

For grunts do not

Live so long.

Calm rationales

Consume them all.





You lose.

The Path

How many eyes

Do I not meet?

My pupils have learnt

To be discreet.

But then I find

Some passerby

Give a downwards glance-

Just like mine.


Listen up and

Take my advice:


Say something mean

That you can say