Poetry

There must be a cruelty school 
or a church of unkindness

I made something 
It’s nice but 
that’s not why I made it

Here on Maple Street 
the blacktop grade is off 
a few degrees…

This is the law 
by which we exist

When I say: 
I want to be something else

What is red, even? 
The room is uneven 
The wind moves it

Just write, the note says 
So I type out some words and 
mash them together

Is an icicle a thing? 
Or just a consensus 
like a chair 
or a duck 
or the concept of love

I dreamed of a swan 
that was not a swan

Put your name tag On the inside of your shirt 
So you remember who you are