The Insomniac’s Kitchen


A lone wicker stool intricately cuts in half
the hardened kitchen,softened, by oaken branches
hoarding moonlight, preventing the crystal clear
cups from revealing the faint smudges
left on his face as his breath slowly
fogs a curved reflection, the cabinets creak
and slowly splinter, chipping in disproportionate
patterns connectable only through the dots
of wormhole marks left under their natural stain,
marble counters hide droplets of spilled milk
in creamy camouflage until they overflow their
self created edges with the unbounded salty
abandon of another sleepless night.

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Riddle


Blind stumbles numb my hands
smacking into half-painted walls
leaving smudged reminders, of where
I am or was but exuding no direction,
my fingers point up and left right,
with no care for etiquette riddling to each
onlooker my worries; what will become of a
man who feels lost in his home.

Stick Figures


Free-form sticks figure on the wall
playfully smudged, during hide n’ seek,
camouflaging vain innocence touched
only through distilled light
allowed entry into the home by passing
silken tests that sway uniform to nothing,
but the seconds, humming aloud
breaking the echoes of childish breath
hastily hushed when driven out in anticipation
by the sight of my feet from their haven.