Pea Soup

Pea Soup


My mother mocked fog as pea soup. Tonight’s soup must have been left on a bit too long, all the water boiled right out of it.


The surroundings of brightly lit homes invisible against the grip of the indomitable darkness of a thousand foot drop.


Behind brown curls bounce along to the rhythm of the grisled pavement as tiny hands weave stories with youthful rapture.


Beep, beep, beep.


Please! Stop messing with that watch!


I’m just….


Please, I just need to get us home safe.


An ostensible marathon of vagueness.


The vapor presses in against the windows as we glide further and further into the boundless



The lights explode against a translucent tree, awash against the dimness of incompetent lamps pressing into ink.


The only sound, the labored breath of stress in the dead of night.


A blinding flash and crushing silence as the subterranean walls close further in, and the darkness lingers just a bit too long.


Beep, beep, beeeeeeee


But I didn’t say I love you.

Counterfeit Trees

Shiny plastic leaves on counterfeit trees

Hasteful scurrying save to waste away    

Forged veins of ore shooting the breeze.


Hurried little humans eager to please

Chromatic enamel grinds through the day

Shiny plastic leaves on counterfeit trees


Brittle crystal chalices bequeath light with ease

Picturesque figurines graved out of clay

Forged veins of ore shooting the breeze


Synthetic icons ignore collective pleas

Sordid little tales lure them astray

Shiny plastic trees on counterfeit trees.


Wax scented nature burns all the bees

Fleeting flits of filament longing to stay

Forged veins of ore shooting the breeze


Flippant leprechauns survey all they’ve seized

Sorry captive hearts yearning for the keys

Shiny plastic leaves on counterfeit trees

Forged veins of ore shooting the breeze.

People Walking

To Avail

We stay an hour



Far past the expiration

Just in hopes

That an extension

A reprieve

Will avail

To no



But we wait another hour

Another day.

Comfortable misery

Another day, another hour.


The expiration lingers.


We sit in the linger.

We wait.

The time must feel right

But comfortable misery

Never does.