By Extension

This gust of wind all too familiar.
A derisive cold brush
Sieved through open fingers,
With the outstretched arm
Almost wavering
In its resolute endeavour.

Need there be a reason
For self-endorsed altruism
Or the crippling guilt entrenched
In every concern extended.

To be helpless or helpless
In the delivery of assistance,
Which sports greater irony,
Which sports greater agony.

Perhaps it is the inflation of which
What more good we may accomplish
If we'd find some, more, and even all
Luck and cooperation...
Thereby making sense of this shortfall.

But with this, logic too, will crumble;
Just as the hand retreats and nestles
Back in snug jacket pockets,
Silently beating at one's incompetence.

Then extension, intension, intention --
Could possibly matter
no
more.

Turning away, embrace
The more that is out there;
Gently file away,
All reproach and despair.
For somewhere else,
A firm grasp will seek
That extended hand.
Of mutual aid and reliance
This bond shall stand --
Silently making amends.

Walmart Whale

Mom, there are whales
Amongst the parking lots
Majestic blimps they be!
D'you reckon they sail
Down the aisles of shops
On the tides of Kool-aid seas?
And seas they have fared
Of Dew, Pepper, sludge -
These surreal submarines.
Perhaps if I dared
And gave one a nudge
It would belly-up with ease.

Dye

A butterfly flaps its' wings
Hurricane in China

Consider a still pool
Unmoving, crystal clear
A drop of water
And the ripples spread
That drop integrates itself into the pool
And suddenly it's like it never existed
Except that the ripples it caused
Gallop across the surface far and wide
Slowly weaken
Then fade

Consider this moment
A thin slice of time
This is a part of your life
An integral one
Every part of you is made up of moments
Of memories
Paper-thin sheets of time
Stacked all upon each other
And when you are gone and all that's left of you
Are moments, memories
They reach out and touch the faces of those you loved
Nestle in the minds of those you helped
And glow in the hearts of those who
Loved you back

Like a drop of dyed water in the pool
Even after the ripples fade
It'll be like we never died at all

Television

It was a noisy flat,
Full of the bustle of busy lives.
But that was just noise;
To her, it was silent inside.

She rattled shut the gate.
Fluorescent light flooded the room,
But none of this brightness
Could outshadow the gloom
That hang in the air like
Rubber bands gaudily in rows
In the kitchen, like dust
Adhering itself to the brooms.

With a rustle she dropped the red
Plastic bag on a tabletop
That wasn't small enough for two.
The stall owner had said,
"Here's two portions, I know
That it must be hard on you."

A high whine mixed itself in
To the ambient un-sound,
And she caught a glimpse
Of a family advertisement.

The commercial break had ended.
The National Day Parade was back.
Our country! The seeds it had sowed!
We should pay our pioneers back
In kind, was the line the message went
Something along, unabashedly loud.

She watched the little green men
March around on the TV screen
Like children's toys, immaculate.
Dancers barely in their teens
Filled the canvas of the stage,
A picture of youth, girls and green.

Chewing on glistening white
Chicken breast and rice,
She watched a happy family
Of the future do their happy
Family things, and thought
About how it would be nice
For everyone to eat chicken rice
At her table that was not small enough for two,
But that was enough to encompass something much bigger than numbers or words,
Something that surpassed quantity in every shape, way or size, something she had never seen or heard,
But once always knew was there.

Wouldn't that be nice?

Her quiet chewing seemed to fill
The flat. He was always there to
Chew with her, that was until
He no longer was, of course.

The couple from the future
On her television screen
Cuddled with their grandchildren.

Tunnel Vision

Maybe the rust of your tongue
Will suffice
To salt this useless dew
In the blur of my eyes
Raw whites
White hot
Blooming needles in my
Tunnel vision

Afterglow

Roll over to
Sponge up the
Warmth of the
Ghost left behind
Fast evaporating
Into trajectory
Of disdain
Whisked away on
Pitter patter paws
Flash of whisker
Out through my
Bedroom door.

Boxhead

Boxhead, boxhead 

Like a porous loaf of bread 

Dry and brown and plain

Conveniently stackable 

Unassuming flammable 

Easy to maintain 

Empty and collapsible 

Shake-rattle-rollable 

Utterly inane 

Favorite colors, birthday dates 

Bits and bobs and whatsherface 

Paper shredder brain 

Pulped and bleached recyclable 

New and clean and writable 

Broken thought of train 

Permissibly strange 

Oddly, can’t complain