the great contrast between everything and nothing:

lamppost lights reflect rushing streams
like mountains made of concrete 
where the grass is wet and green 
and mushroom fields replace the wheat 

monster house:

knock and your own voice will echo
i drew a kind face on the front door 
an untitled work under art deco tiles 
enter but do not tell what you found

i float to the feeling 
where melodies repeat and morph
above the fumes, on the ceiling 
beneath the tiles we unearthed 
dirty fingernails and nothing else

I'm last to know that Ive been stealing 
rhymes from shadows I observe 
I'm real when I thirst for 
the bodies of dead poets 
under stained oak floorboards


ouch! :

on my way, I cracked my jaw on the curb 
to see if it would hurt 
I like to play, to feel my heart reverb
But not to disturb the birds
I want them to feel okay,
to enjoy their wee day


: 

believe we can be who we want to be 
understand the silence 
over the crunch of the leaves 
I'm not sure where you'll find us
between you and me,
foggy English countrysides
breed a feeling I see 
so easily, so clearly.