Poem-A-Day: Day 88

Baskets

Smooth rounded lips
bring self destructive bliss
to a wretch wrecked.

It’s neither calamitous
or calamity
that lays its weary head
down to rest assure
the only things worth knowing.

As it turns out,
there isn’t any worth in knowing,
only things intangible abound,
bound to hell
in broken down baskets,
because the irony
is murderous.

Poem-A-Day: Day 20

After a Rain

Sometimes the trees looked like perfect mirrors
releasing

d
r
o
p
s

of water
from high above transcendent thoughts.