petite poems

i keep waiting till it's over
but it ain't over till it's over
and i keep thinking it's over
over and over and over and over again.

i tried i keep
waiting for the splinters to sweep
up my feet like stilts, are bleeding

the trees look frightened
leaves look right at them
they pull in directions
away from the sun

the sun and
andy kaufman
i couldn't stare at
aware that
the titian of
trolls
acts so
droll
to woman

i catch you on
a forrest scar
where trains went and
my strides besides
happening tags
nail guns, buckets
given, imagined names
for us and other strangers