100 miles inland

The wind in the trees roars like waves
rising and breaking, tumbling,
rolling onto sand,
and ebbing away.

no more thanks, I’m full

I’ve been trying to cut down on fatuousness
but it’s not easy this time of year,
as the platter of platitudes is passed along,
oozing with saccharine sweetness.
So with gratitude I’ll load my plate,
despite how hard they are to swallow,
then I’ll wash away the bitter after-taste
with a glassful of gin and bad attitude.

mirrors of the soul II

From an angle
I saw,

mirrors of the soul I

Don’t gaze into my eyes to look for my soul –
eyes are windows for the soul to look out
from the darkness behind.

From the outside,
they are only curved one-way mirrors,
reflecting back your own reduced and distorted image.