Poetry in Ocean

My nephew lives in fantasy.

The world around you

is chaos in a pickle jar...

They found her body in a duffel bag

just minutes after and a mile from the concerts.

A dash of snow among city steel, your white curves

alight upon the mock rock scape.

The first speck of success

has all the flavor in the kitchen...

The peacock strut among the tombstones,

sapphire and jade...

I can't remember when

this game became war.

It looks different now.

Come home, little boy,

come home...

I'm running out of time,

sprinting across this race track to finish...

Today was a waste of a day

where I didn't do anything...

I feel so restless

laying here trying to be restful...

There's something about the trees here,

gentle giants lumbering with the breeze...

Chicken broth reminds me of home,

when I'd come back from an exhasuting evening...

Monday starts the staircase,

each flight more foreboding than the next.

This is the city of dreams

where skyscrapers with big names rip...

I can't quite chop the chives as quickly as Mom does...

My passport says American

but the census gives me a prefix...

The top of your head looks different now...

My friends grew up without me.

Of all the lives I could have lived

I wonder why

I picked this one.

Grass blades cascading, curled

down like fingers on the crook of cane.

Etched into the sidewalk

fine white curves and lines of chalk

uttered those words.

Lifeless birthday cards give way

to gift bags clinging onto wires...

On a winter morning jaunt I saw

great gasps of steam

galloping into the air...

Gray sidewalks bearing gray faces

drowning in ocean of overcast.

From sunrise till the sun dies

sits the old man by the evergreen.