Hole (An Autocorrect Poem)

Your presence gives me hole —
As though a week was lifted from my shoulder —
I kosher it’s just a trope,
The kind we entertain as we get okra —

You wear it like a diary
That sparkles in the sketch,
Inline to you for everything
And you donut ask why —

Your live, it gives me hope:
It’s like the kiss that signature Spring
The hole you place

In everything

Hallways : Luxury Hotel

How did I ever end up here?
It’s like a sort of fantasy –
And yet, these halls are real,
And this is happening to me

But sill, life’s downs and ups
They are but little understood:
And when I wasn’t looking
Things turned
Good

Sawdust

The mess is obvious…

The mess is obvious,
as is the advanced age of the tools:
but, what we might miss here,
and what we often miss,
is that the act of sawing off or carving away
what is deleterious to the final product
creates chaos;

we then mistakenly see
the unintentional aftereffect
as the purpose of the whole activity.

But the purpose is the carving;
the sawdust is only
the inventible chaos that comes
with creation.

Love is Manifold

Love is manifold,

Dimensional,

Made of movement and stillness,

Inhalation and observation,

Patience and forbearing.

 

There’s no such thing as

“Too young to love”,

“Too old to love”,

or “Too anything to love”.

 

Even now, when

Parts of the world burn;

Somewhere

Love is finding itself

For the very first time

All over again