Discounted Poetry

The empty waiting, Sickly yellow disappointment, You are wrecked inside the constant ticking. Italy will wait on you. Besides Milan is just America with far more vowels, And Rome is merely home to tourists. Florence and Venice, though, Will rearrange you, Steal a chuck of who you were And add something more quiet, Vivid. Tender child, Never you imagined You would make the flight Alone, But o, There's yet a world You never did expect. You're sturdier than you suspect, And life is wild. Venice waits. - 11/2/26

The reservoir is dry. The lock on the safe Was broken months ago. I always hoped my wit Would compensate For my appearance, My lackluster looks, But she swears She'd study lines along my face, My richest eyes For hours. She is always sliding her sweet open hand Across and down my desert cheek. The drops Are muddying The dust and concrete. I walk above With feet clean. -10/30/26

Gravel Every interstate I've traveled, Every gritty path I crunched To desert end. My friends walk blacktop Grumbling about their throbbing feet. I bother not a soul with my complaints. At times She speaks of thorns and mud. I fancy she might comprehend, Relate. I, however, always see the distance, Rarely nearness. - 10/29/26

The clouds are tumbling clowns, The wind Untied shoestrings. I'm learning all I've forgotten. I have acquired discipline But found my joy and heartache Flattened, Quieter. I am recalling Falling on my face From running hot, Unchecked. - 10/28/26

At any point, The train will duly shake the walls In under twenty minutes. She knows well. O, my queen, I want to sit beside you knees And spill my heart in public, But the stinking joker talks forever, Prattling on for no one's pleasure. There's no pause within this royal scene For tender sentiments. In chambers Off the side, Her smile fools all common men Into believing they are midnight lovers, Highly secret treasured knights. Outside, the horses run in rounds. The stable boys are shoving forks Into the brittle stacks of hay. The air's fermenting, Sticking to my marshy skin. I'm turning back To see her crown Is shrinking as I leave Returning home Across the tracks. - 10/27/26

The sky is hiding from the evil sun. You conjure Steinbeck's slow turtle In the rippling mirage. You're pouring gasoline Into the engine Which will never run. The turtle now could race you, Beat you, Leave you far behind, Astonished, Showering in searing sand. You see yourself Adrift from shore And frantic, Interweaving arms and legs To keep your face above the surface. Cut the cords around the gold Before it pulls you to the ocean floor. - 10/26/26