Two Short Poems

Free verse and prose poem

Photo by Jr Korpa on Unsplash

West Broadway Brick Egg

You’re very strange, she
says
I think I’m very wounded
and then I go on
to haunt the semi-darkness
of my West Broadway
red brick egg
the blinds that
let in all of the
city lights at 3 a.m.
still hoping
I can get the walls to
take on the bulk of my
left-leaning weight
trying for
something like balance
but even
yesterday’s incense seems
to think the light is too much for now
and dissipates in the yellow
glow and I think
we all need warm, dark places
to hide
but then I’m very strange.

Stretched

It’s a cool morning in July
fragments rush through pained head without an doorway for release
into something bigger, stretched over a narrow canvas.
Holed in my cave, I dismiss…