The 8-hour office

They placed her in their 8-hour office
numbed her soul as they closed the door
locking her in like a bird
in a cage, demanding it sing
to impress eager visitors.

She spun in their office chair
(without the excuse of childhood)
took their humdrum pen to command
tedious technical information, but
all that came to her was poetry.

When they returned later to see
how she got on with their work,
they found an empty chair
spinning indifferently, and
marveled at her disappearance.

She found their tasks a
prosy impossibility, you see,
and she angered at the sheepish
nature of time, the clock
that couldn’t quite keep up.

So rather than wait time out
she inhaled tasty breaths of
otherworldly air, clicked her heels together
and disappeared indefinitely into her
ravenous imagination.

I looked at you

When I looked at you

I saw baby flames torrenting
down your hardened cheeks,
where once there were tears.
I guess you shaped your armor well.

We both knew you needed it.

Has it changed you?
Do your feet still shuffle dusty across the path?

I’ll still be here waiting for you,
whatever you decide.

My eyes longing to be seen by yours.
My skin shaped for your hug.
My fingers impatient to intertwine-
to weave in all of you.

Don’t leave me waiting too long.