Black Socks

 

Black Socks

Two black socks, no exceptions.
That was the thing you know.
Stripes and polka dots would kill you
faster than any slip of the tongue.
So it seemed, as I pushed the black socks
farther into the depths of my shoes.
Even if no one ever saw them,
two black socks, no exceptions.

Any socks now, no explanation.
Black with white, they stick out
more awkwardly than myself then.
Shameless, fearless, they laugh
a pair of insecurities unfolding.
Funny that our minds should grow
like the feet that move them.
Comfortable in the mess,
Any socks now, no explanation.

Rainbow Spheres

 Rainbow Spheres

Sometimes I imagine that I can hold the world in my hand.
Opening and closing it's gaping vastness like the rainbow spheres.
I toss it up in the air and it shoots open like an exploding star,
only to fall back to me and shrink under the pressure of space.
Twisting and bending, it folds over itself like I did so many times,
enclosing all its energy within a plastic skeleton.

Plastic, so delicate a substance to build a world on.