In a country full of clocks.

My heart is set in a land full of ticking
infernal clocks that tell me the negative of what I want.
I am not allowed to latch my hand onto that hand,

that large slender hand.
I hope my emotion that fills me with misery and worry
to not be the breaking point.
Between two things
that share a lucky passing connection.
Between two points
from here to there is just a far away place.
Between my head and yours
dreams fill the space with time.
Between the next tic-tock of the minute
I feel torn amongst this world of mine and
the world I don’t know existed.

I hoped I died when that heart of mine expired
yet, yet, nothing was there when the metal tore me apart
there was an empty space
it was gone,
oh dear
there is no end to this.


Deaf Man Passes Cards and Pens

Deaf man passes cards and pens

To each table with occupants

Asking for money

A bit of money

To fuel his life

With change that was not his own

What change can become of this?

Not much at all but more walking

Passing cards and asking with

A small card for change.

Change that is not given

For the skeptic

Does not know fully

What shoes he wears.

Sample excerpt from “It is what it is” a novella

It is what it is



Into that mirror-ly town




Sarah opened a silvery book entitled ‘Mirror my love.’ A sucking noise emitted from the book, it eats Sarah. In one large gobbling motion, she disappears.

Fizzing lights, popping soda bottles, simultaneously went off painting kaleidoscopic triangles in Sarah’s eyes. She attempted to focus her vision but only a dizzying blurs of green, grey, and blue filled her focus. It took a few moments to find her bearings. Sarah wasn’t in the library anymore.

Sarah observed her surroundings, she found herself in a single detached home neighborhood that screamed suburbia from all directions. All of the homes are a single level. There isn’t anyone on the streets. It’s like a town that had all their inhabitants vacuumed up in one quiet morning.

A short truck on Sarah’s right side gently chugged down the street, heading in her general direction. It got closer and closer, till she was able to distinguish a sign on its side that stated, ‘Do your duty! Report to section 18-42 for mandatory reproduction!’

Sarah angled her head to the left muttering, “What in blazes?”

The truck ambled by, but there was no driver; just a steering wheel that directed itself.

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