The Clouds

Everywhere and nowhere, home is no place.
Clicks. Belts fastened, tomato juice sloshing.
Searching for the soul; an exhaustive chase.
Deep corners of the earth, thumbtacks squashing.

Few precious hours, sweet purgatory.
Nauseously shaking. Cold sweats hot flashes.
No excitement that is not mandatory.
Rare moments of peace, misty eyelashes.

Between worlds, clutching neither time nor needs.
Clammy hands grasp old baggage. Last to stand.
Blonde curls, pockets full of sunflower seeds.
Turbulent past brings nostalgic disband.

Aggravating truths, I long to be whole.
Stability? The clouds achieve this goal.


First published on 26 August 2017

My Pidgin is Better Than Yours

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No Regrets

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