Poetry

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

One for the road 
He said

Sticks and stones
 May break my bones
 But why stop there?