Tangled and intertwined

He finds tears
in his sparsely scattered
laughter. These seeds are black
and soggy.

He cries in
between his laughs.
Sorrow finds travel in him,
till its roots swing low
and intertwine
with laces.

He tasted tears
washing his smile.
Salty. Warm. Familiar.
He fears he savoured it.

Night words

Night words
guide me into dreams.

Tender.
They carve smiles
on sleepy faces.

Goodbyes:
They drown heads
in wet pillows.

Silence;
They fill sheets
with ridges and sawdust

Gone (III)

One day

we woke up,
and the sun was missing.

“Pick up your lamps and get to work”
the foreman shouted
in the baker’s shop
to the financial
adviser.

The sun
was not missed.

Gone (II)

One day
the sun woke up
and we were all gone.

It searched the moon, its pocket
Mars, the pool, the ISS, the bathroom,
the kitchen and it green purse. It inquired
from neighbouring stars and the postman.
All in futility.

We were (all) gone.

The next day the sun woke up
And we were still gone.

Gone (I)

One day
we woke up,
and the sun was missing.

We searched under our beds
in our shoes, our pots,
on the toilet, by
the fridge and
between our
cushions.

The sun was gone.

The next day we woke up
and the sun was still gone.

Bungzit

I am sometimes troubled
by the “flimsiness” of language.
That you could take a word like “trust”,
put it on the floor, stamp on it and tarnish it
till I can no longer listen with a smile, to your heartbeat.

 I am deeply excited by language
That you could take a string of characters like “bungzit”
and give it a meaning. Say it over and over and over again
until my scrunched up forehead flattens out under the rumble
of my stifled giggle.

You swing language
like a tennis stick that has a big oval opening, covered in a
mesh which you use to strike a ball across
a low hanging net.

I trust you know what I mean. Bungzit

A short to-do list

Run through narrow alleys between tall stories.
Sometimes, paint pictures with your feet,
or elbows.

Periodically stop time
by holding a pose
for an uncomfortably weird amount of time.

Do this again
but in public. While wearing a hat
you are definitely uncomfortable in or under.

This is a random poem about random things I think we should all do.
Randomly