You can do anything if Magic made it.

Here's to not updating since forever ago. I have a portfolio's worth of things and I guess I'll post some--good or bad. I really only like one of these (the last one)--although the revision to work is pretty nice. I'm pretty happy how it turned out.

I'm talking to you

We were gathered here,
boxed up, bathed in the
blanket of dark-still.

Turned us on, caged
life on command--
and we won't shut up.

Soft chatter at first
Dr. Jekyls to
screaming jealousy.

Digging through darkness,
grey matter clears up
discoveries

and we want to know.
So we scream out
giving light to
help understand.
To live.

~tm

Indecision

The mind is a mouthful--
squirrly--scatter.
Chew on it all without
choking. Spit some out.

Encasing it all--pen caps
feign bullet cases.
Pick and choosy
end up climbing a
ladder to the ceiling.

Cook it all--up there--
til a burnt tongue
flaunts decision.

~tm

This next one started out really really different. It went through some heavy heavy revision. So, i'll post the original then the revision.

Work, Slow and Steady.

Ever widening, out of control
actions are annoying at their best,
and her mannerisms play the pest
to one's patience becoming hard to hold.
Hunger starts to add to the initial
problem--and, no printer paper left
for finality. Nothing of interest
could relinquish the suffering of the whole
unless 1 o'clock finally arrives.
Finding a sandwich to suppress the hunger
presents itself--a celestial choice.
The question comes, How will I survive?
Grief suppressed by the advent of laughter
by knowing that she's losing her voice.

~tm

As you can see... it's pretty cluttered up and forced, although it is kind of funny--to me anyway. I felt it needed a complete reworking and way more deviation from the sonnet form since I wasn't really working it wholly to my advantage. so, the revision.

Work, Slow and Steady

For finality. Nothing of interest.
Actions are annoying--ever widening.
Knocked out, stars mingle with your

pupils, suffer until the calling hour.
A.D.D. suppressant fashioned from
the loosed string unraveling a sweater.

A comforting thing constricts when
the heat is on. Breaths become
heavy-handed resources--an end

to the line of cardigan-hell thread.
Summer docks itself at our ports--
a change. The love of throwing off

itchy wool that sweats your skin.
Freedom kisses--sprung out of it.

~tm

This next one is pretty old. I did it for my cousin, she needed something for a class she was teaching (I think) but didn't end up using it. Didn't really get the idea across that she wanted. Oh well.

405 to Dreamland

Pillow-headed. Thoughts grassland.
Planes, desolate--eyes snow-globe
And they're off!

Tonight's road map moves like
countries mark pages of passports.
Connecting flights--over-night
one way--carry fantage from
memory to memory.

Point on! Touch down! Odd trip.
Journey's photos Lego'd
into a new captain's log.
Eyes open, oblivious, with a
scrapbook of understanding.

~tm

last one. This is in response to two things: O'Hara and Craig-Martin. If you're interested as to why, just ask.
Favorite out of all of them in this post.

Why I could be a Sculptor

Optimally 253cm
hovering over the
floor, an oak tree
idles until shaken
by steps or bumps.

Everything about it
is clear--when willing.

While twins rest
hidden, cupboarded
in houses, this tree
will never more be

a glass. Transubstantiated--
perceived into its new form.

Belief rendered as art
sewn to our common
thought--of why
I could be a sculptor.

~tm