Renovations

Paint the low flying ceiling

to cover the smoke jaundiced cracks.

Anaesthetise all feeling

to forget the faux forged facts

Melt with me in the house of glass

with an espresso shot of oil.

Cackling so crude and crass

as the landscaper tears up the soil

We need more wood for the decking—

sure, just add it to the list!

Pretend this isn't our home that we're wrecking;

pretend that our children don't exist.

Cold Tea

In the cup's chamber, a teabag infused 

and was decidedly discarded - 

happy that it could make the brew strong.

Perhaps enough for one more use,

never as satisfying as the first;

and though perhaps enough to quench the thirst

nobody once those last dregs loose

and left lying for far too long.

And so the teabag, so lowly regarded

was left cold and then politely refused.

Infected Light

Fragmented amber light

regurgitated by the lout loitered lamps

sprinkles down through the frame

of a plastic window

[off -white and cold;

yet retaining no cooling comfort]

and brittle leafs, tired and defecated

by the smoggy air.

The light spills up to the sky

and rebounds through the shook-up Earth

- as if a glitter globe -

covering any mystique that celestial sphere could draw

so that even stars and the moon

are just emergency exit lights

of a broken bed-sit.