WordTapestry

why did the chicken cross the road?  even with all the cars  and the blue-red flash  of police lights,  he crosses  because maybe,  his family is waiting  there on the other side,  holding their breath in hopes of the day  they'd reunite beneath  a more welcoming sky.  After he crosses,  the chicken  would have to work  very hard to keep them all  happy and warm,  but as long as  they could be together,  he would do anything-- cross the road,  bleed his heart out, to keep  their tender dreams  alive.  This isn't about  chickens. 

drained blue tiled floors and a beach-scented candle.  i'm sitting here in the  bathtub,  waiting for the sting of your words  to mellow.  only here will  my feelings be bared,  tears swallowed  by the drain.  and if you hear  something like crying,  it's just bubbles  dancing beneath  the faucet's cascade.

message to you I think that  we're gonna be alright, though I don't know when or how. But the Moon, she watches over us, and tomorrow the Sun will be reborn in amber light. Though time will keep slipping away from our grasp, if you tilt up your chin, there will always be beauty to seek. So yes, I think we're gonna be alright.

hand-in-hand palms damp,  you apologized,  eyes averted  and  smile hesitant. but I have been waiting  all this time to wander through the grooves  of your fingerprints.  don't be sorry for simply being,  darling, I'm just glad you're here with me.

lines I have traveled through them all,  and yet I still wonder  if one of the lines  on my palms, like so many  scars with their  hesitant creases, will lead me  to your smile,  your outstretched hand.

nobody the room  is full but nobody,  nobody,  nobody's home  and I want  to frown, but then I'd be out of place, so  I don't and  nobody, nobody,  nobody,  even blinks. 

too much politics? and yet for someone,  somewhere, today was the end of  the world and nobody,  not even the ones who promised,  answered their calls.  and yet the treaties keep failing, there are  axes left unburied-- children step on mines  scattered by their fathers, all because  a man in a suit decided  some people shouldn't live any longer.  and yet we call them  monsters,  the refugees who flee to the edges of the Earth; those who couldn't stay starving,  stay hurt, stay hidden.  and yet we can see the bloodstains from space, hear the cries of the people  they tried to stifle, read the stories of civilians  crushed like ants  into the dirt. and yet, they do nothing.  and yet, can you hear the people out marching? and yet, we can try.  To keep loving,  to keep talking,  to keep being-- and don't ever stop.  Not for anything.

feels like Versailles the crystals on the chandelier scatter around light  the color of hard candies,  and I am delirious for  a moment, with their sweetness  upon my bare shoulders.  but the night sky awaits with bated breath and I shiver a little,  feeling restless,  exposed to the scrutiny of  all the stars I cannot see.