I feel as if I have a bundle of "sorry" in me, crammed like different sized paper inside a rubber band.

While we are dreaming,
the Universe is creating

we've become a culture
of air fresheners,
breath mints,
quick caffeine,
and the sour
after taste of sugar

man with the nice car

physical beauty
deteriorates with time

when you smell
the breath
of the rotting inside

mornings like this

winter sunlight.
faded yellow
with smoky pink hues.
the neon sun flickers
like golden tin foil
against the glass buildings

Daylight is the sight of the lip;
night is the feel.

i heard the news today

poking the wooden toothpick through,
help me come out clean
when the cake is finally
due