Some Poems, Vol. I

The Solipsist

The solipsist reads her words
and “cringes at the sight”.
Not to be discouraged
He diggs into the verses’ blue soil.
Stained with ink and confusion,
He comes back up for air.
And covered in words not his
he looks into the mirror
and recognizes himself.

Telephone Poem

Sitting here at work
bored.
Time's death,
held off by ten short lines.


Her
blue words, are a cure for

beige.

Temptation Divided by Torpidity

Temptation divided by torpidity,
split asunder by academy's devior.
tepid rivulets carving time's soil
to conjugate 'nief the light of a city