Too much
or too little…
Category Archive: Postaday
My hand fits inside yours
I could be your nesting doll…
Time is not real
neither am I….
If you ever tell me
that you’re hurting…
thunder is an aircraft
passing overhead
behind the air conditioning…
are mountains purple or blue?
it changes as I get up close…
I was the paper doll
you tore across
two imperfect halves,
jagged edge…
I practiced for seven years;
it follows me, a devoted dog
that asks me to play…
why do we say
we’ll be in touch…
I want him to have had made the right choice
in the worst circumstances, to have chosen
what seemed to be evil but for the greater good…
Daily Poets 