I walked outside and found my way to this place filled with beauties and bows Gummying carefree thoughts a may, my destiny, God beholds;
Three puffs pony'd up, Mommy dressed in peace
Hearing the wind sing with me, "be all you can be"!

Severity jump ropes with me as I glance back and forth; noticing the disagreement between a necessity and the "air force"; Far less of a concrete stare, a laugh...it looks like a monster; "Boo-ing" away the aliens that destroy the trees while the skies yell "ooh-wees"...

Postal Worker

Call it routine
But I handle the world's cares
Separating the differences in uniform blue wears
Call it routine
But I see-saw the world
Domestic to International, sushi to cheese curls
Call it routine
But the letter knows no face
Befriends not a smile or due disgrace
Call it routine
But this four walled public affair
Can't be judge according to what's sitting there
Call it routine
But I handle the world's cares
Separating the differences in uniform blue wears

You give me butterflies...

A bubble just formed in my stomach bc I took a breathe...significant bc now I'm holding it. Never was I "a swimmer"...The trustworthiness was covered in foil and all I could see was my own reflection. The brain tissue conformed the holding place for rationale but my heart obtained hypnotic attributes, therefore creating the intentional confinement of this bubble. The invisibility of this shape held the truths about me concerning you. And every instance it's released, the butterflies beautifully land on my self-made matured security, hard pressed onto my heart.

Copyright DCIS.

Untitled

I'm like a line-file, anti-plural, crisp money green; superscript single with stretched C's in between. Ads retracted, I got my self-esteem. Choosing, left eye snoozing, trying to see what's right. Lost in the top of my eyelids, wondering why they haven't taken flight. My checklist, body, and ink...thermalizing patches of opinionated "ithinks". I painted myself red and called everday 0-2 fourteen...for faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. The phone rings, immediate change in the clay. Hardened, too viscous, stuck in its own way.

-Copyright by DCIS