Goldilocks

A winter hymnal begins.
he gathers scattered clothing
like a fire drill.
I am making snow angels
atop Garnett Hill,
sheets swaddling me
limply.

Left to the exposure,
he puts on extra layers.
I can feel him watching,
sampling phrases and oxygen.
That was fun,
just right
but his eyes are the color of
Jupiter and varicose veins,
they say,
sorry but your planet is uninhabitable,
too many seasons.
I don’t need a satellite.

Out on the front porch
he flicks Morse code with a lighter
Passing headlights go nova
then cascade north,
as our throats fill with
Dead leaves
and pine needles.

Between sips of water,
we try on words
watch red giants
form at the end of a Marlboro
full of black matter
and nameless stars.

Biography: Long Beach, CA based Poet and Writer of the diaspora. Music, art and Psychology are my first loves.

Artist Statement: The majority of my writing can be summed up as a concoction of experience, love, and cold weather. Very often when I write, I am listening to music, and recalling a singular point in time. Music is the basis for everything I wish to create, whether it is written or sung.