Or Can It?

Pigs can’t fly.
Though The Simpsons put that theory to test.
The sun can’t rise in the west.
Unless astronauts who seen it do lie.
The stars cannot rearrange themselves in the sky.
But on this moving Earth, that is what I have seen.
The clock can’t strike thirteen.
But on my digital watch that's just irrelevant.
A mouse can’t eat an elephant.
Unless it's elephant-flavored cheese in a can.
A circle can’t have corners.
Well that's just bigotry—if it wants to, it certainly can!

More Beautiful

Narcissus surfaced again,
this time his conscious rinsed
of the conceit of his own allure.
He reached for my hands, unconvinced
that I would help. I let him die,
and waited long enough, just to be sure.
In this world no other person
can exist more beautiful than I.

No Place

The gale sharpens its edge on the crags

As the night chill descends.

The unruly air carries exposed roots

And orphaned blades of grass,

Slamming them against cold rocks

And comatose boulders of sandstone.

It slices me twice under the eyes

As it speeds past me and back

against itself, like blind strength,

terrible freedom

with no place to go.

Rhyming Dream Interpretation

I dreamed of a glass teacup, doc,
filled with tears of baby crocs.
But soon the tears turned into rocks;
I puked them all, which looked like chalk,
Then woke up to my alarm clock....
Tell me, what does it all mean doc?

Young man, the teacup is your eye.
Those tears are yours, do not deny
it! No croc tears, that is a lie.
Swallowing tears is hard, that's why
they turned to rocks. As for chalk, I
think we've run out of time. Goodbye.

Spring Carnival

Oh the feel of the vernal air!
April arrives like a carnival
Of living aromas and colors,
With parades of blossoms
Riding the sun-soaked breeze.
As we dive into the fertile green,
Their cool caress against our feet,
We hear daffodils laughing
Softly, like when breath tickles your ear.
Wish you were here.

Under the Spell of Rhymes

I came across the third word, spell,
in the local library's lost and found,
next to a smartphone heavy as a dumbbell.
The second word, the article of the,
was bestowed upon me by a grand poobah,
the young, recently crowned Maharajah.
My readers shall not wonder much longer
where I found the very first word, under:
I discovered under right above
the fourth word, the preposition of.
The last word, though I seeked many times,
it was only at the end that I found rhymes.

Cookie

The bedroom air is perfumed
with the aroma of coffee
and freshly made bread.
A tall glass of orange juice
sits next to a closed window
that overlooks a garden.
Past the garden of dancing tulips
and blue hyacinths in bloom,
invisible from the house,
lies an empty lot,
that long ago belonged to a church
and once to a lottery retailer.
Here a halting ant,
having lost the way home
in search of food for hours
in the storm the previous night,
comes across an old ad
for Ant-Killer bug spray.
But a series of gusts
lifts the two of them,
the ant and its magic carpet,
and finally places them
next to the house where
inside someone is now baking
trays of cinnamon sugar butter
and chocolate vanilla pinwheel cookies.
The ant is flooded with scents.
The door is suddenly opened.
A child runs out laughing,
eating a cookie, a small piece
of which falls right next to the ant.
That's the way the cookie crumbles.
That's the way the cookie crumbles.