New York Tyrant
she razed herself a sporty sophisticate with a taste for fair game and gumbo
one gone off to view an elephant or two
the big apple! the city of angels!
a boy with smarts enough to walk himself around the block
not only once and not merely twice
nor even such as thrice but a fellow who can step out on a block
walk it clear to ad infinitum
never flagging not even down a cab
POEM FOR MY IMPOSTER SYNDROME
Stay up late at night
I suck / no talent / have you all fooled
Go to sleep
Dream of failure
I’m terrible / how could anyone love me
Pop open the laptop
Have to practice breathing for a minute
Avoid being distracted
Too many June bugs crashing into my window
Buzzing and thumping
Trying to destroy me
I anthropomorphize all events
Paint everything purple
Need to dive deeper
Imagine a house in my body
Descend the staircase and look outside
There are mountains
Of course there are mountains
When he hears the doorbell ring, he stops drilling and walks towards the door, the wooden floor creaking beneath his feet. He looks through the peephole, opens the door halfway.
“I’m in the middle of something.” His right hand clasps the doorknob. His left fingers curl around the frame.
“Do you want to go for a walk?” she asks. She is always suggesting he should take a walk.
“Don’t you even watch the news?” He points at a dead plant on the porch.
Cruel men have kidnapped me.
And housed me in a cement cage.
Chained to the wall.
There is no light.
Or fresh air.
Only stagnation and frozen yogurt.
That is what I’m fed.
Each day, by the unidentified.