Author Archives: Glitter Buns

words only reach so far as the shore at low-tide, The shape of your childhood On the collection of memory,  Harbors docking the innocent wailing,  Dialed phone on mermaid seashells,  Only as far the bookmarked novel,  Pinched between the shelves The echo chamber with a door; The kitchen with Tuscan olives And dark chlorinated poolsContinue reading “Uriel”

Rather the halls empty Fewer bodies pumping blood  Then stage the wrongs, Paint the midnight showings On banners up the stairwells; To admit pearl scripted beliefs Translucent in the sun Were more important than the  Breath of youth, summer wind

The tears choke waves  undulating through the desert, To dried wells  buried beneath the colosseum;  Somewhere I believe  Between shadows looming and dreams pinned  on the board of summer wind and frosted pine broken by the eaves of frozen creeks and sagebrush dusted meadows,  Driving somewhere I believe;  Heart lead pulsing just barely,  Head poundingContinue reading “Yesterday and one day less”

For your Lord,  Whose sun-shined shins Rest on my head; Who kindly throws me the scraps  Of pickled cabbage and carrot skins; Whose hunger-less nights  Lighten mine. For you Lord, Glassy-haired and legs like fine lines Whose soft hands stitch together  Trials with no laws And rules with no etching in the sand; For myContinue reading “For your Lord”

If I had a nickel Or more than two For the bus fare home, A pocket of change  For new horizons and sunsets, Skipping the stone Or turning the gumball machine I might have been right

Certainty is the Death  Of all  Wisdom

We all are fools in our own ways, to line the dominoes up and pretend that they all don’t fall down, whether they hit each other or not. But our ignorance is protection. A shield against the things that would truly hurt us if we let them fester for too long, linger in the criticalContinue reading “Seeking answers about color”

Opportunity and knowledge is a privilege,  one that is the inheritance passed from the 1800s smoking pipe  of a second son calling home, to the blind Maseratis trailing fire down the back alleys.  Tickets and lawyers can be bought,  but at the expense of the whole system careening into the unknown as the absurd wishesContinue reading “Hot Rich Kid Money”

I cannot be the wilting inexperience,  The hope hung on the glass bottles of trees Clear as mud peering through the veil of time Counting the measures of the day; I cannot be the experienced,  With every known variable in palm-sized pamphlets, Confidence eluding from a light that never dims  And floods an overwhelming tideContinue reading “Wilting”