If you had to pick,
what sense would you sacrifice?
Impossible choice.
See hear taste smell touch
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If you had to pick,
what sense would you sacrifice?
Impossible choice.
My spare bedroom holds
many possibilities
under all that junk.
Soldiers wear helmets.
Women wear makeup, styled hair.
Our mode of defense.
Could I love you if
we did not touch, if I did
not mark you as mine?
The house of my heart
is white, clean, pure. No windows,
doors. No visitors.
We bring it home, put
it on life support so we
can hang ornaments.
Sad orphans ripped from
the forest stretch out their limbs
pleading, ‘Take *me* home.”
Two tribes – In-laws and
Parents – force you to over-
eat, then watch TV.
On weigh-in day I’d
inhale helium if it
would make me lighter.
The Windy City
carries aloft a million
dreams on fierce updrafts.