Hunger can help sometimes
because the emptyness is often
like an iceberg no one’s seen before,
out somewhere in the dark parts
of the ocean.
I can’t wait for you here
on this empty street
where no one lives
and the garbage cans
are still around for miles.
I replace my memories
like ceiling tiles gathering
up dust and fading structure
until there’s nothing left
of what they were before.
A wolf face carved into a door
that is the gateway to a manor
full of fools.
The garage is all just shiny cars
and the shed is full of spider webs
and tools.
A mother waiting patiently for her chance
before authority is anxious that her daughter
will do anything to upset all the rules.
I say leave the numbers in the machines
and let the sunlight through the metal
shutters rusted over from neglect
and don’t expect the world
to kneel like this forever.
A new found valley in the same place as the old
where the water runs in tributaries
and the ground is full of what it takes to be here,
and there is no fear of faceless figures watching.
Teleporting Typewriter 