I’ve taken an interest in illustrating
her pretty white lies
turning them into pretentious trees
inside my newly acquired
little black book
music on the radio I pause & choose
who should I believe
strong winds shaking loose the leaves
I pick them up two at a time
saying she loves me not
december two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Forgotten allusions
conjured at night
reappear when least expected
and make our lives
a little more interesting
like who we really are
or how we could be
Remembered dreams
either delight or haunt us
it is their inconsistency
and congruency
which lead us to accept
or pretend
not to live with them
nineteen ninety-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
The automatic garage door opens
Its overhead light merging
With the Audi headlamps
Pulling into the drive
Early Sunday morning.
The neighboring homes
Shuttered in darkness
Keep its occupants isolated
From the disturbance
Of mechanisms and motors
Nearly all long gone in deep sleep.
Upstairs, a mother and child
Turn their bodies in reaction
To creaks on the floor
Which subconsciously
Feeds their minds
With secrets and lies.
december, two thousand eleven
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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