Xanadu
 

The plane is tilted to the overhead sky, willing to see the underneath bays.   Your companionship is the drifting cloud, leaving me...

My trust is like trying to fix  a creaky door with rusty nails. The spent hinge grasping for life. Rust trickling down the slab. Bolts,...

I no longer see a reflection  of what it can be, only what it can’t. My face cracked and split.  Pieces too small they have  become too...

Walking past, my hand grazes your soft, fiery skin. Colors explode across my vision a sea of vibrancy threatening to sweep me away. Glass...

I am an angled paint brush,  with densely packed bristles. Lost on a blank canvas, looking through my fluffy edges where to start. Where...

My focus is my favorite necklace. Tangled, lost, in the morning rush. Clasps clawing at the big hand. Long brown hair equally as tangled...

My creativity is a submarine treading through the desert. Ladder up to the dry air a lash-up of cacti and dunes. The channel fever is now...

My hope is a broken phonograph that still tries to play. The dull stylus barely being held up by the rusted cueing lever, slowly...

My focus is an obstructed mosaic.  Colorful glass, restrained by a cloth curtain.   While interstices unite,  and tesserae sparkle,...

My thoughts are a train off its tracks in the middle of a lake.  The wheels are slowly sinking, The conductor is nowhere in sight. The...