Dictation

Elusive threads

Tugging at minds' ends.

Chess pieces caress the board

Playing an intense game

The outcome played out

Long before.

One chooses his choice of food

Never realizing

It was never his choice to begin.

And when a poet writes

About what one calls 'inspiration'

He'll never admit:

Every thoughtful word

Meticulously hand-picked;

Is but dictation.

Alienated

@#*&^$^&*#@ xyz

I sure do know my ABCs

Yet I try and try

Till I fail to deny

That I'm may actually not be

A specimen of mankind

A glimpse of my mind

Is a different space

A different time

Radiating with a wavelength

like no other kind

Well allow me to explain

To feel is to:

GRR baaah Tskk RAWRRR Booooooom!

A flurry of colors

And a mess of rhythms

In a vacuum of darkness

Neither alive nor dead

Reaching my hand in yet again

Drawing out

A series of unfortunate needles.

To feel

Is to feel the stab in all

Or the swaying flowers in the wind

But to communicate this

Is but an endless dream

I call out to the infinite void

But no like wavelengths

Were to be found.

But yet this smile never wanes

I think,

yes I do think;

That

I must be

insane.

Thanksgiving

Roasted brown crisps

Perching upon a tree

Combing off remnants

In a boyish wind.

Down below

A cleaner groans

Of the endless fall.

Forgetting whose shade

Embraced him through

The summer's glaze