Pincers

NaPoWriMo Day Nineteen. Off prompt.

Depth is felt

best by those

who have already

been crushed - 

and now, 

all the more ready

to catch another

in the vice grips, 

like an enormous

crustacean, 

presently reddening

in the pot, 

eager to share

its buttery grave. 

The Rockies

NaPoWriMo Day Sixteen

Maybe you can imagine

one deafening crash

after another, and another, 

the movement of two or more

boundlessly large objects 

grappling in violent collision.

Maybe you can see now, 

in the space where these objects

were once peacefully separate, 

skyward growth, sharp and

treacherous, towering over

entire continents that surround it. 

Maybe you can hear

how quiet it's become since then,

how only the leylines of the wind, 

the hiss of ever-falling snow, 

and sparse traffic of humanity 

now intersect upon it. 

Maybe if I idle here - beard frozen, 

skin dry - for silent eons enough, 

these peaks will speak to me. 

Buried treasure

NaPoWriMo Day Fifteen

Love is
a cast iron vessel
left empty

a time capsule
buried 

wherever you think
only one intended person
will look
sealed to
outlast generations
of feckless weirdos

Turns out
the weirdos have
metal detectors

Swipe to fill in

NaPoWriMo Day Fourteen

      Help
comes in many shapes - this 

one happens to be a

too-many-fingered hand, 

slathered in chocolate 

sauce, rolled in some off-brand 

sugar cereal, and 

held out to tantalize

      me

as if any pool of 

desperation could be 

deep enough for me to 

shake it. Its syrupy

filth would soon seep just as

liquid-hot slag into 

every syllable I

      write, 

setting it and all else

aflame. But take comfort, 

friends - the war is elsewhere, 

and soon they'll bless us to

reduce ourselves to sleep, 

and dream of the ghost that 

animates the machine.