A Handmade Prison

Oh how I’d love to

Wrap my arms around you

Not in a loving way

But in a way that would leave you breathless

Like a sardine out of its can

Would you like that?

Would you like to be salmon served in Japan?

Would that make you a man or is that not your plan?

Although, months ago

Things made no sense

I was slow with nowhere to go

You came to my funeral and sat in front row

Now I’m tense for you smiled

At the expense of my bones

And the pain that ran through them

Now they’re dry, bone dry

Cold as stones

I’m kneeling, all alone and I try

To forgive the sweet salmon you are

I look up to the sky

And I know that I’d love to

Leave you on a patch of cement

Ladies and gents, here is a man with no plan

A fish out of water, dear old Dan

I’d charge a fee of two cents

To see you cry

And a five-dollar bill

Just to see you try.

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Happiness is Pink Jellybeans

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Jesus looks over The lost souls and bones below In the jungle sun To witness such beauty And such devastation God painted with one brushstroke Merry men sing Holes in their shoes The dark night lit up By police sirens And the crescent moon Bats flail around Like me, lost in the jungle Eyes glaring all around I hope they're monkeys Or jaguars I hope I can keep a piece of This country with me Safe in my pocket It smells like tropical rain And feels like The clam shells Washed up on the shore It tastes like fried bananas And heavily salted steak Sounds like seabirds cawing Samba on the streets And looks like a page From a storybook About parrots and palm trees Of finding a golden treasure A magnificent, uneasy place When she sun goes down So do we Leaving the night To the creepy crawlers And innocent stray cats

Olga's Poetry & Thoughts

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