Creative Writing

The Right Key
Metal hills
Gold valleys
A ragged row
Of cut teeth mountains
That catch on the ridges of my fingertip
And bump along the grooves of skin
That make up my finger print
I look without seeing
To make sure it’s the right one
Holding it up to the light coming from
The neighbor’s red hot tail lights
Exposing the curve
The glimmering shine
That reflects in the dark black morning
like blood red wine
Metal on metal
It stumbles through the tumblers
And a snap of the wrist
Clacks the lock shut
Putting aside my desire to stay
It’s not really a choice,
I have to walk away
When I actually want to walk back in
Down the slippery sprinkler-wet sidewalk
Wishing it was the hour
That I could walk back up it again

Snyder’s Swansong
This is an ode to the valiant pretzel
forever lost in the quicksands of Nutella
a sticky brown delicious demise
a sugary serenade of sweet suffocation
as each cube of salt disintegrated slowly
in the sinewy slime of the liquid solid
darkness enveloped the crunchy carb
as air bubbled out of the collapsing cavern
and the struggling pretzel gave one final wave
with it’s disappearing arch.

Concrete Snakes
The concrete snakes that twist in the dark
Don’t know the stakes
or the city’s heart
The winding turns through light and black
Down the road so far there’s no going back
A community of no names
A herd of strangers
Moving in silence in the night
A trance of stop and go
Lost in the hum and vibration
The elation of each green light
And the yellow’s anticipation
Sights, sounds, sensations all blurred together
I think the road goes on forever
And even driving in a loop
I still move forward
Ending up in the same place
Just another person on the road
Just another car without a face