fear

beneath a dusty cover wrapped in vintage string,

fear…

is a story we read to ourselves

while sitting silent behind curtains that hide the moon

from pages trying to hold on to passing clouds,

that smell like rain.

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table

looking down through his glass

held by hands like bricks,

he saw where the wine from tears

had left their stains of disappointment

deep inside the splinters of a broken table.

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with a carnival balloon in hand

and paper banjos playing softly beside the river he walked home,

pausing only for a moment

to released the fictional helium hope

of ever finding his own huckleberry friend…

then quietly placed his love in the museum of his soul.

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