Beautiful and Strange

Almost The beauty of Earth is the almost of its fullness. The morning grass almost full of its morning dew, The leaves so--I sneeze-- almost full. Looking back up the dew is gone. The late afternoon sun almost spreads its warmth evenly, Almost every being feeling its love. I close my eyes to take it in. The warmth escapes me and when I open my eyes, The morning dew almost runs Down my almost bare feet again. Sometimes I wish I could just stop, But like almost every moment in life, I must move on. It’s like we’re almost present in every moment, but never fully there. What is truly beautiful that lasts?

Misery Her mind forms clouds As the gentle breeze brings butterflies That take her to misery-- Drowning in thoughts of those That give her jitters and tingles.

The Black Room Sitting in front of the zebra in silence. I approach closer to the other side, Unnoticeable. I swiftly move my pieces with an elegance. Every step is precisely calculated. I know that one mistake will be the end. I cleverly and immaculately play the game. I smirk, I persuade the opponent into thinking that I am a zebra. The taste of victory Gallops next to the knights, and the shops. Nothing less but finishing at the top. The Zebra arrives. I turn into a black lion with manes of fire. My heartbeat is visible in the veins of my eyes. Stunned, not believing that I captured the king, I take a deep breath.

Shark Week For one week of the year My fame over rides your fear. Living in the shadows I won’t be oppressed by your hatred. You’re gonna need a bigger boat.

I Remember Everything Still I remember that moment, my Grandmother’s Raspy voice: Look around, it’s almost our turn. Excited, toes wrinkling, soft Sorel Caribou boots retaining My warmth. I push my mittens through the snow, as Evergreen trees surround me, hefty with laughter. My eyes peer down the lengthy slope, heart Beating rapidly, a family of snow Eagles cruising together in unison, the sun’s Radiant beams striking the ground. Ecstatic, when my grandmother whispered, Very well, it's time. Her voice Echoing, as the skis bounced off white, granite Rocks, wind howling in my face. I Yearned for this moment, the line of Trees seemingly infinite, my Grandma’s Heartened laughter, the memory I would conceive like a child. Now, years later, staring at the photo... Grandma, I miss you. Softly, I hear, Very well, it's time. I Touch the snow, feel its resentment. I am lured by deception’s breath, Licked by the salivating tongue. Lonely, I plunge into its mouth.

What He Wants A field past the house entertains the curious feline but he has become bored with the all too simple daisy’s. The flowers are dead through winter so what is there to do when he isn't allowed in the house? How will he keep engaged? He desperately craves a loving rub on the nose. He follows the glow to the house looking inside. He wants the warmth of someone holding him. Some people to bring him in from isolation.

Wings What did man do when they saw the first butterfly? Did they swat it away and break its wings like my dog, Or did they admire the stripes and colors on its back? When I first saw a butterfly, I’ve been told that I tried to eat it, the black and orange stripes Must have reminded me of the candy corn I had eaten during Halloween. Part of me Still remembers my mom’s screams As I tried to take a bite out of a tasty looking wing.

Forsaken                                   The smoke still gets in.                                                                                                           The spark from the flame, Is the only color that God                                                            Has forsaken me to see; It burns.                              How am I alone to hinder         ...

Or, But Even though my aspirations Have never been as exciting, I’ve always wondered how An astronaut decides His sleep schedule. The sun does not go down For him, nor does the moon Come up to tell him goodnight. No. In orbit, we are the masters Of time and space. As the earth Rotates, he is unwary, undeterred. Hence, stuck in blissful limbo. In this way, aren’t we the very Time that we choose to worship But refuses to conviene for us? For time is simply rotation. As clockwork, we puppeteer ourselves. So, I’ll strike a point: Maybe if “Orbit” turned into “Or, but,” we’d find A divergence from this undignified Staggering to our timely aimlessness.

The White Room The silence of the room was overwhelming. The walls so white they’re blinding like fresh snow under the sun. I sit down in the clear chair at a table. I notice a chess board. The black and white squares start moving, Spinning to the silence. I focus on a chess piece: It becomes a zebra, the squares still moving Underneath. The zebra looks at me as if It was trying to tell me something. My head shakes vigorously, The silent room is filled by my submission, As if pushed by a syringe.

Alone The town is gone. The state is gone. The country is gone. Everything is gone, except for the three red trees. I do not want to die like this. There are sounds coming from the red trees. Click-Clack. Click-Clack, then a long burrrrrrrrr. The stars and moon have disappeared, I do not want to die like this. The trees suck up all of our purpose And spit out the leftovers of what they Don't want. They want to shine. I do not want to die like this.

Quicksand It's not the snow, Or the fluorescent glow, As it radiates off the mountains, It's not the satisfying palette Of blues, greens, and white, It's that ghostly invitation to disappear, To wander outdoors, Embrace the elements, To be swallowed, In the mouth of it all. I press my nose against the glass, The chill, a fresh change of pace. The pine trees, their dusting of snow, Drawing me closer, Pulling me away, Relieving all of my innocence. Some may call it wanderlust, Others just say I’m crazy, But I can't shake the feeling That something is drawing me, Pulling me, begging me, To crawl into its mouth, I’ll let it drag me along its teeth. I'll let it lure me past its tongue.

First Monkey : What ever happened to Emme Gravely? Second Monkey : We buried her in self-doubt, remember... First Monkey : So she could dwell on everything she says….now I remember. How did we do that? Second Monkey : We just introduced her to her own shame. First Monkey : Oh yeah, we gave her the mirror her mother used to own... Second Monkey : And chained her down, forced her to stare into it.

I despise my joy, everyday. Looking out the window hopeful, As if the view would change: The same blue sky and sea. The other day, I was given a book; The Brueg(H)el Phenomenon . I scamper acrylicly. I come across a painting. Two monkeys sit chained together. I tear the page out, and tell the guard, Dispose of the rest. I ask the monkeys, Where should I put you? By the window , they plead. Now, we are all sedated. They whisper to me, 729 days, 23 hours, 58 minutes, 42 seconds.