Choker

A tight choker,
necklace called Vice;
we breathe easy, but we wear it without pride

Blank Pages

I.

We are all
so afraid
to taint
fresh pages

to confess
touch brush
to blank
canvas

afraid of thunder
young
the awe
the wonder

the clock is ticking
impeding
distracting
me from you

I wish
the rain
was all
that I could smell

II.

I found this journal
at a thrift store
not a mark upon a single page
this means that someone
did not have a single thought
worth selling

just a binded spine
full of blank pages
just a bony spine
tipped with skull
full of blank thoughts

I found a book
of poems
at a thrift store
signed
by the author
to a lover
long lost & stuck
upon the shelves

just a name
a dedication
everything
poured onto the page

given away
oh so freely
discarded like a name

boxes are forgotten
after a time
though they hold
a life inside

III.

Even the best gods
are caught
hiding behind
a mask
inside a box
or burning bush

even the lowest god
is nothing
but a construct
of our own feeble mind