swishing foot,

twirling in shadow

shaded in by some high rise and

blurred by the gleam of a stall;

light scattered by a still puddle.

a step past another,

an antiparallel twirl,

summoning forth past

through inexorable rifts:

a once endeavored jaunt in dreary rain.

a soaked, red, wooden bench,

paint chipped and wood frayed,

worn apart in threaded lines

under a dripping tree on a dark, cloudy evening;

maple seeds adrift,

damp in the rain,

their silhouettes spiralling

as wind chimes somehow twinkle persistently

in a happenstance harmony with the patter of rain

under a gray blue cloudy sky-

in the streaming grayed blue

a new wrinkle forms between wet threads,

torn apart through droplets of dull sunshine.

now anew in old,

bathed in blinding faded lights;

wrenching nostalgia,

on a field of wind whipped grass,

awash in rosy filtered evening sun;

melancholy of times thought unhad but

somehow known had in some

tangential, parallel form

tripping over nothing,

falling through the bottom of the sheets-

those rapidly undulating, ephemeral, thready sheets-

sinking momentarily, peacefully, perfectly;

ether, water, drained through a dark deep vent,

sucked and siphoned away

back into midnight of some city

world spinning

you, spinning

something natural,

an unfathomable moment,

an altogether opaque moment

feet swish,

head sways and dips

rain and sunshine

phasing through stars and midnight

in fluttering,

sparse,

threadbare sheets,

a lens blowing throughout,

precipitated,

crystallized, even,

within the moment

itself.

under a waning moon

born of midnight sun;

unto the new moon

beside memories of ancient stars

alongside visages new and fusing.

Old mother hubbard

Went to the cupboard

to get a soup bone

Femur, Tibia, Humerus?

In the end, there was

none

She turned on her heel

and went by wheel

and knocked on a door

"Hello Good Neighbor!

Don't mind me..."

And the neighbor hit the floor

Old mother Hubbard

went to the basement

where the tools await her

And then the bones

for the soups and stews

she had more...

Crazed laughter, creaking of floorboards and endless whispers formed together to create a symphony of madness. “Come join us, Cory”, they chanted. Cory’s eyes stayed trained to his shoes while he shuffled backwards towards a corner of the room where he pulled his knees into his chest. Unhappy with his lack of response, the symphony became louder and louder, now with the constant cries of him to join them. Cory’s hands found their way to his ears, putting immense pressure against them to block out the madness. Shadows of creatures of all different shapes taunted his eyes. “Look at us Cory, we are just like you!”, they screamed. But then it all fell silent. His hands fell weak to his side and his ears pounded. Slowly his eyes trailed upwards, taking in the stillness of the room, only the chandelier showed sign of earlier movement, swinging back and forth. Just as his breathing steadied, two sickly, waxy, hands rested on his shoulders, forming a tight grip. Stale breath brushed his ear. “Boo”, the creature whispered as cory was thrown into the floor, his skin now turning ashen. The symphony picked up, his screams blending in, as he was now a part of the madness.

She made mistake after mistake.

But the paper ripped when she tried to erase.

She trys to make work she is proud of.

But the paper ripped on the work for which she held no love.

The girl went up on the podium to give a speech.

But her paper ripped with a screech.

No second chances for your mistakes.

The paper rips when you try to erase.