The sun
here wakes
me at quarter
past six hidden
by a disorganized
gang of clouds
I can’t see the sun
except when it peeks
between the slats of
grey shutters
It’s rained here
daily saturating my hope
of sun with mist like Seattle
This is paradise I’m told
but paradise before or after the
apple
Month: March 2018
Hawaii
I flew
ten hours
to Hawaii
yesterday to
home now
Yes it’s paradise
birds sun heat
a sand grain
in the Pacific
I left behind a lover
some dishes a TV
I only miss
my lover
(Un)Inspired
I look
like an
uninspired
poet
my head rests
on blankness
fingers frozen
on voiceless keys
rubbing eyes I
wonder
where my muse
went when she
excused herself
yesterday
Road
A road
to my house
is loud like
a seashore
cars like rolling
waves crash
at the stoplight
A road to my pen
is littered by tens
of tens of bad ideas
plugging
the vein of ink
stalling
Green
Emerald eyes
it’s said
is a recessive
gene and one day
disappear like migrating
birds
Malachite has
healing properties
and there’s moss growing
between
stones on my path
Green is immortal
especially when they’re
your eyes.
HARLAN DIDRICKSON 