Crazy House Poem #1

I’m sure, once a cloud drifted through asleep on drafts of dreams, warmed by dangerous desert lands where the hungry ground eats clouds for life. But in that brief cool morning, when sun was kind and vicious lands asleep, the fog turned golden, alive in delight that the warm dream could come true.


It's dry and gray outside. I'm dreaming of naps and Monsters, despite knowing the chemicals will induce unrest. There's bumps minute in pain, but satisfying in their defeat covering my forehead with puss. Blink up, dry eyes, to rain? Not yet. Skies here love to tease too much of moisture. Deserts don't do me well. … Continue reading Dry