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Hurricane And then goneas if to eternity's cliff, howling down that longdrop to the point of nothingness. No blessingswith this rain, only sweat and the promise of moretoil. Still, the golden orb spider remains,clinging to its doorway perch.
Star Bright
Distracted, my fingers acheas the black coffee cools in its pale ceramic. The paper stars I nailed to the wallno longer rustle when the door opens. That place, oncehome, now an aching void. I sip, accept the bitter,acknowledge the sweetness to come.
Why I Hate Mowing the Lawn The unmowed green reveals its secretsblade by blade, shadowed and fresh.Don't look, it says, whisper deepinto my chlorophyll. Save this blue.It unveils other nuances, confiding incontrast and symmetry, employingyour eyes and their measures. The quiet,all-encompassing and subtle. So true.
Robert Okaji is a displaced Texan living in Indiana. Though he no longer owns a bookstore, he still finds himself surrounded by books. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Panoply, Vox Populi, Amethyst Review, Nine Muses Poetry and elsewhere.
Star Bright
Distracted, my fingers acheas the black coffee cools in its pale ceramic. The paper stars I nailed to the wallno longer rustle when the door opens. That place, oncehome, now an aching void. I sip, accept the bitter,acknowledge the sweetness to come.
Why I Hate Mowing the Lawn The unmowed green reveals its secretsblade by blade, shadowed and fresh.Don't look, it says, whisper deepinto my chlorophyll. Save this blue.It unveils other nuances, confiding incontrast and symmetry, employingyour eyes and their measures. The quiet,all-encompassing and subtle. So true.
Robert Okaji is a displaced Texan living in Indiana. Though he no longer owns a bookstore, he still finds himself surrounded by books. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Panoply, Vox Populi, Amethyst Review, Nine Muses Poetry and elsewhere.
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