Bicchiere Piange

What is lost?
What has gone?

You're holding an empty cup
that once held a most nourishing juice.

It held memories of a flawless past,
and hopes for an endless future.

But as you stare into the corpulent chasm,
and squeeze the moribund fruit for its last teardrop,

the memories remind you of
what is lost,

and the hopes are echoes as you scream into the cup for
what has gone.

Human Race

Birth is the starting block
pop
they're off and racing
racing to school
racing to work
racing to get married
pop
new contestants enter the race
the race continues
no time to look
to the left or right
where life happens
they run in panic
to win
to get to the finish line
the end.

Panem et Circenses

your face is mangled
by monsters imbibed
and piercing screams
from verses inside.

Insanity breeds strange comrades.

Will the papers spare a line -
for the life of a poet?

A Three Year Old Painting

She
throws her paintbrush
on the table.

Colours
fly.

A smile
is
painted.

Counting the Stations Until Their End

People on the train stare.

Stare into nothing.

Stare and reflect
on the points in their lives
that have lead them to their seats.

Stare and think
about where the train is
taking them.

Stare and count
the stations
until their end.