Trumped: Tower Block Asylum Gravity

In the high-rise, 
Everything was in 
Great, scintillating order— 

Including any semblance 
Of order which had gone 
Right through the ceiling 

When every able body 
On the premises 
Found itself going up 

And down 
In circles, unable 
To do anything but 

Pace the abysmal,
Bottomless pit 
Of the ground 

Floor. 

Exemplary Poetic Specimen

Go ahead, 
Stare at the blank 
Page all you want— 

Nothing needs all 
The help it can get, 
And you’re no exception.

Best Laid Plans

When the rudimentary yet 
Humungous suicide 
Bomb went off 

And everything and everyone went 
To pieces with it, there was nobody to ask 
What became of the intricate 

Nuts and bolts designed to hold 
The whole shebang together. 

You Don't Say!

Listen up, young fella— 
People who say 
They like to tell it 

Like it is most likely never 
Tell you what it is 
They like to tell; 

The few times they do though, 
More than likely they 
End up short on the telling 

End of another tall tale. 

Air of Yearning

The pine’s whispering 
Something all but inaudible 

Under its breath 
The wind pines

To hear it, too.