I have an urn-ing

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I’ve been mindful, 
I’ve been tempted, 
I have fallen 
into ceramics. 

Not the kind that you think, 
it’s not a hobby. 
I sit in my tub 
thinking over all the ways 
my life has left progression. 

I don’t live for the moment  
or live with a passion, 
I live like I’m dead 
floating like ashes —
I’m full burned and wholly disbanded —
another form of pottery. 

Burning the Light

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A mesonoxian skyline
falters, similar to Christmas lights
when one bulb is stubborn.
One link in the chain is brittle and rusted.
How all the buildings lack the ability to
walk single file, splattered all over the place,
fortuitously. Broken spectacle punishes the eyes
with flashing strobes picking their own
time to illuminate.
The working lights are as random as the midair specks
gathering speed to crash into oblivion.
The randomness of it all is as irritating as it is refreshing,
taking a page from Mother Nature’s book of splendor.

Morning In Review

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Mornings born on a
      bowl of confidence,
or grain-flavored pellets
      that stick to the back of my conscience.
The day will end with a decision,
      a jury and court weighing the outcome.

Easily influenced by the surroundings,
      silk and cotton drapes,
one for the table and the other for
      obstructing neighbor’s view.
“Why is he not married? Is he even religious?”

It’s funny how their opinion wavers
      on a wafer in a building
made of the same materials as this
      kitchen. Did I leave the stove on
on accident or intentionally to burn in Hell?

I never thought it was true
      that we poke fun at the
things we fear most. I haven’t poked
      or prodded in my lifetime,
but my neighbors sure do.
      “No, Mrs. Smith, I embrace this loneliness.”

It’s almost as if they think I run
      a whore house, or
have the most questionable of sexualities.
      I am as plain and inconclusive
as the toast I burnt – dry and unbuttered;
      it goes down unconvincingly.

I will sit in this chair, hiding from the houses,
      eating my dry meals
in the morning, under the beaming lights,
      possibly reviewing this day
in tomorrow’s morning.