Four poems.

One.

1.    I am a disembodied voice. It follows that,

2.     I will never have substance.

3.     I will never have answers.

4.     Least of all the ones you want.

5.     I will never have an appearance.

6.     Least of all one you’d find acceptable.

7.     I will never belong to anyone.

8.     Least of all you.

Two.

1.     I’m taking a walk in some park tomorrow.

2.     I will not count the trees.

3.     I will count the numbers on some boardwalk.

4.     I will count the numbers I see in some skyline.

5.     Until the sky begins to bleed its rain.

6.     It won't be fun anymore after that.

Three.

1.     I need to know who I am.

2.     The soul of an ex-person knocked on my door.

3.     He says “Let me in, I can tell you who you are.

4.     Who you will be. Where you will end up.”

5.     I say “I can’t be so sure of that.”

6.     He says “Why not.”

7.     “I figured you out a long time ago.”

Four.

1.     I left the house dripping in sweat.

2.     Usually it’s because of fire.

3.     I had to escape a monster this time.

4.     It was stuck under my bed, you see.

5.     It would bite at my thumbs at night.

6.     It was gnawing at my existence.

7.     It had to go.

8.     But I didn’t know how to get rid of it.

9.     So I left the house, one night.

10. I don’t know where I went.

11. But it went away when I came back?

12. Asks the doctor.