This tree is a wise old man
With wise old whiskers
And words that droop
Low over his eyes
Under the weight of youth
Ripened on the vine
…
Ugh
That last line didn’t work
Kind of cliche
How’s this supposed to end?
The boughs look like bushy eyebrows
Not much else
Beyond a metaphor run dry
-T. Weeks
Thirty three breaths
And counting
Remind me what’s the goal
Trees dance and darken
Inside out and sway
Flying on a pizza box
Magic carpet
Manic purple
Dark dark dark down
Pinpoint planet
Light up… Now!
-T. Weeks
I took this morning
Folded it in thirds
Looked for a stamp
Dropped it in the mail
Rainy day and bird songs
Licked and sealed
Five to seven days
Arriving on time
I took this morning
Drew a long exposure
Halo hand motions
Rain drumming on the ground
Is it me or tomorrow
Taking a picture of today
A moment a filter
A story for the world
I took this morning
Capoed nine o’clock
Strummed some words
I’ll probably never say
Where does it go
A song meant for nobody
Dissonant sunrise
Beat dropping low and late
Diaphragm
Pulling on the wind
I’m ready for the day
-T. Weeks
