Bigger On The Inside
Once you said that your life was an open book.
With put-on grin
admitted to pages stuck together.
Not an original statement.
Got it off something you read once.
Could not be sure.
One day you presented me with a journal.
Mark down all our adventures.
All our times together.
I’d write in it.
You picked journal entry titles.
Then you left about 20 pages in.
It’s a pretty journal.
I do not have the heart to rip the pages out.
Covered them with pretty pictures.
Overwritten some of the pages with
swear words in black marker.
One day I may just paste them together.
By A.E. Wallace
The Sky Shared
Sent In By Robert Kirkwood
between you and I,
pain, anger, fear and beer,
A dolly mix of
confound our (now)
We move from day to day
with each other, not with each other
and find it all too real…
so we sit and stare in silence
at a phone
that must ring,
We fill our days with responsibility
and dream the dreams of adolescent angst.
I muse on the summer night
through my bedroom window;
indigo rolling out beyond the conifers
where the little doves coo.
At that same moment,
you walk out in the cerulean air ,
to forget about me
By A.E. Wallace for RTK