Poetry

I want to do everything
 He said
 Not realizing how impossible that was
 In the space of one lifetime

Listen: 
This stuff needn’t be so dour

What if 
Happiness was accidental

Just 
An idea 
Says the treehouse book 
On the bathroom rug

A failed body 
Thus interred 
Into a vault of carven stone

One foot Another

A moment 
A beat 
Is gone

I don’t know how you do it Go and go and go

The Sunday scaries 
Is what they call it 
Because of the alliteration