Revamp

Changes have been made
Pictures added
Colors and text reworked
Link to my portfolio coming soon..

Word.

Touché, Michael Willis

His marksmanship poised
Delivered to kill us
His words sharp as tongues
Touché, Michael Willis

1 PM
Thievery logistics
Like stealing ideas
Passed over hands glued
Keyboards to fingernails
Bruises of culture
Riddle decrees
As truth becomes commodity
And wealth an ideal
I read them there
Surveying the screen
A landscape of luxury
Only one click away

I am Not a Child. These Are Not My Siblings

I stand mistaking everyone
Polishing my eye-glasses
Why am I screaming?
Who is this crying with me?
She says to me, over and over:
"Wake up, Christopher,
You are no longer a child."
And, "Snap out of it."

If I sit still and think
Now I can save my future
I'll save it in a memory
The map to consciousness
I'll repeat to myself,
"You have Alzheimer's;
It's only getting worse."
And, "You found her long ago."

Day of the Dog

We're off through the winding woods
Touting our masculinity
We four brothers; invincible
Loosening our trousers
Now bare to our toes
Our backs to the forest
The dock will bend to us
And wake in morning pond
I fly towards the gleam
Five hundred yards of shimmering
The water's cool as rain
It floods my naked skin
They follow me; the eldest then
We never felt ashamed
I surface now to catch my breath
And calm my overwhelming joy

The Burgeoning Winter

I can't but feel I'm missing time
Alone outside in bundled abode
White pillows up nicely my booted heels
I button up snug my overcoat
Wandering legs and a frigged nose
Alternative paths dance overhead
Not for my feet having no place to rest
Would I be out nowhere instead of inside

The fire grows tired and smolders
Honest, inside I can feel it grow cold
Dim grows the light in my soul
And not for the time growing old
Fuel is low and in demand
I'm asking the Lord for some tinder
A bitter bite off of my hands; my eyes
Raised high as the burgeoning winter