The Puppet

Nine oak fingers Chipped yellow clogs Fire red suspenders Shaven blue trunks Rusty squeaky knees Nickel strings missing Julio’s curled away Inside Oscar’s bench It lies underneath A deflated football Bent plastic bat And torn quilts

Drive

Driving down a seemingly clear road Going ninety five with stripes torpedoing under Clouds blurring like green and brown gasses Tree's, faces in a large cheering crowd Cold air was colliding with the windshields Causing deep thunderous crackling rumbles Tires were weightless on the silver Accord I couldn't feel the feathered grey pavement beneath As … Continue reading Drive

Sling Shot

It's late; I can tell by the fact the sun has dropped from the sky. Someone shot it, so the ball fell into the black swallowing ocean. I think it will escape tomorrow but who knows if it will. We cannot make assumptions about such serious matters.