Financial Center, 8:34am

Palm Tree

under a glass, wintry sky
businessmen and stagnant palms
indulge dreams
of tropical paradise


Home Port


You problem solve by grabbing
a black portmanteau
and a fedora weathered
by sand and sun,
coming back to me
air-mailed or sea-driven
after loneliness forces
false contrition.

But today, I trail across a globe
with five fingers of possibility
powered by anger, but more:
an intrinsic love of self.

I refuse any longer
to be your anchor.



Today, I shall be driftwood
Carried by the sea waves
And the many currents
Of travel and possibilities
And when I grow tired
I shall wash up on a fragrant beach
And bleach as white as the sands I rest upon