i.
Because every time I looked up,
There would be faceless figures;
blurs and masses with something
dark dripping off their figures,
stretching from the fingers to
the grins mounted on their face,
and electric eyes staring at me
through the gloom.
I did not think about them too much;
I thought they might notice me and
tear me from the corner where I laid.
ii.
My grandfather is sick, as pale as death.
My father rushed him to hospital, where
he slept for three days and nights
and did not wake to say goodbye.
I wish I had called him more, 4,823 miles
and an ocean away, far from home.
(He is living, well and happy, thank you
very much.)
iii.
My mother left for 3 months and 17 days to
travel through a country that did not welcome her.
Her plants wethered without anyone to water them.
And it was almost funny
how life had fallen apart so fast, so
sudden. (a swift blow to the neck.)
iv.
The book was made of bold statements,
hyphens, a queer narrator who would not let go.
When the book ended and the sky fell
and things that happened somewhere else
(Somewhere where gold harps played
and people died twice and lived thrice)
did not happen here, she lost sight
but with it came the cyanism of an adult life.
How boring.
v.
My legs are longer than yours, dear cousin.
And that is why I run faster, three steps ahead.
But no matter; we are all running out of time.
vi.
The man renting my home wrote a book
after spending time in prison for a crime
he says he did not commit
Justice-it's not always that great, as we're not
really fit to judge the crimes of others.
I admit I'm not perfect-I'm lazy,
irresponsible, unkind, selfish, greedy,
miserable, stealing words from strangers
and those from the realm of dead
because I am incapable of creating my own.
vii.
I have run out of things to say,
and there are things to do of more
importance.
