the silence

it's all quiet
in the early hours
of the morning
until
i hear my dog
barking in the 
distance and before 
i yell to him to 
be quiet
i stop myself
afraid to break 
the silence.



Uncommitted

faces
spring out from the boxes
with bright yellow 
bows and round painted
eyes that only cry
when someone says the 
wrong thing and the springs
will cry too, bellowing in
agonized shrieks about something
unpaid, neglected, forgotten, unloved.
and all is still until the
sun sets again and the storm comes
to life with a fierce fury,
shattering glass against the 
wall and slammed doors hide other
forms of refuge inside. the neighbors
meanwhile complain about all the noise,
wondering why nobody answers
the phone or greets the mailman anymore
while the people who live there have 
only forgotten to remove their 
masks.