Hey there,
you swinging cat,
sorry for destroying
your domicile with my
mad dashing avatar,
sorry I did not
recognize your blinking
fur, composite sound,
this is the way
the game is played
the way of my virtual
people.
who’s to blame
as mushrooms cloud
a once cantaloupe sky
who’s to blame
when you say yes
and mean no
convictions compromised
who’s to blame
temperaments on fire
burn baby burn
the song of the day
who’s to blame
helpless behind the cage
maimed and broken
who’s to blame
melting ice
floating away
all endangered
who’s to blame
It could be
the grating voice
of a radiator,
the way teens
talk about real
relationships,
a figure in the door
walking in at close,
or just my general
feeling after a while.
There never was the demon
I sought in childhood
or the dragon, the rabbit
I read of in Blyton’s books
or the skyscrapers I thought
the city had, I’ve found them now in my whittled
thoughts.
To be misunderstood
The silent pain
A misplaced person
In a formatted world
Mismatched shoe
Walking through the fog
Of astigmatism
Speaking in tongue
Waiting
For a special delivery
With the excitement of a
Child envisioning a box
Medium in size
Wondering what you had
In mind
But it never arrived
The how or why
No longer matters
Getting lost
In the crossed wires
Of a misunderstanding
Your inner workings ripped
Shredded like tissue
Who misconstrued
When you never existed
Nothing
so kind
as a word
tucked in
the right
spot
like a
fine
pillow.
