Working Stiff.

buried, barely-alive

beneath an avalanche of white

waiting for the thaw

that seems an empty promise.

I pretend to be sleeping

thinking I can cheat death

but the paper doesn't care

my in-box a crushing, unrelenting foe.

race you to the grave...

hoping I look good in white.

* * * * * * * * *

The Glass Half-Empty.

Feeling like myself

Or at least a girl

I used to kinda know

When my glass is nearly empty.

Forget about half-full

Or even overflowing

That's the time

Of the night before

The sweet forgiving...

I mean forgetting.

* * * * * * * * *

The Fold.

Luring them into my fold

I began practicing

To transform armed assassins

Into harmless

Cranes and pinwheels

To just blow away.