31 Oct

I did not mean offense
It is only my fear
That thins our correspondence.
Only fear that keeps
My lips and fingers
Sealed and wringing.
If only you could understand
The telepathy between us,
The migratory nimbus,
The aerial pantomimes
Ribs closing in like corset
Starving my lungs
Their instinctual triumphs.

If a gull, I might escape isolation
With a cleverly timed squawk,
I might dive down
Into your pitted palm and discover
Some kindly sacrifice
But I suffer no such lucidity.
Every extension is sodden
Tarnished by the caricatures
I employ in rehearsal.

I admire your talent
But I do not expect that you
Would entertain long
My inadequacies.
I have engaged you
Many times, a veritable moon
My forms are numerous
All resembling the articulation
Of an eye but I am no eye,
No prophet
I haven’t the sense
Of my crises
I tear at old wounds
Until a fountain
Counterfeit and carmine
Rises from the motes
That enslave me.

Leaf Shakers

17 Oct

Trees behave differently than humans.
As the weather downhill skis toward winter,
We start to wear more and more clothing.
But apart from conservative evergreens,
Trees begin stripping down in the autumn,
Until only a sprinkling of leaves remain,
Clinging to their bottoms like underwear.
These are then pulled down by the wind,
Eager to bend their naked branches over.
We have no use for leaves in the winter.
Summer is when we need them, for shade.
And as we begin to expose more skin,
Leaves become our substitute clothing.
Covering our summertime nakedness,
So no one can see us bent over a branch,
Shaking those sturdy summer leaves.

Sappy Love Poem

12 Sep

I see you as above

A spectrum beyond

The blueness of heaven

I bate my breath

Waiting for you

To close my hand

In the mirror of your own

Is this what it is to love

Without question?


9 Sep




safranine-blooded sea creatures

swimming so far away, microscopic.

Do you see the stain as a shallow grave

or think of it as your giant, endless ocean?

Flash to a time when shadows didn’t need

light to exist.

Casters rolled them out like a Yo-Yo,

spreading darkness around on puppet


Pretend like it’s the weekend before

you were scooped, prepped, and dyed;

Swimming in a cool cluster, naïve.

What kind of images were you casting

deep in the refracted light?

Could they have shown a dual future

sliding along below you—parallel,

self taught, self-aware, and emotive—

controlled by forces they might not


Maybe they played a larger scene?

The one that motivates the Casted

to become the Casters.

Eyedropper releases a teardrop-shaped

capsule of familia, still swimming.

And you sigh.

K. Shawn Edgar | Writer | Lounger | Freelance Human



The Sleep Assassin

3 Sep

Teenage ninja cat,
Moves through the darkness,
As swift as the autumn wind.
She pounces without warning.
Assassinating your sleep,
With extreme prejudice.

Ninja Cat

31 Aug

She’s at that teenage ninja cat phase.
No longer a kitten, but not yet fully grown.
All legs and feet and tail and stomach.
Her body needing constant refueling,
To fill in her slender frame,
And as energy for fantastic feline feats.
Across the room, she bounds and leaps.
A blurry jingle-belled bookshelf bandit.
Midnight with two greenish yellow moons.
On top of you before you can blink.


23 Aug

Their monochromatic faces hovered at the store again,

flying like black dragons at a seaside kite festival,

making me wonder why no one ever laughs at them.

Stoic humor is dead, I guess; lost in the bright-siding.

Oolong tea, better served hot, first withers in the sun.

It’s left to oxidize, tortured for taste, and later it’s twisted.

That’s how it is in our stockroom, but we laugh at our ills.

On the floor, we glad-hand our customers without guilt.

Even Mr. Thomson and the Peck family are welcomed.

Then, by lunch time, we’re back laughing straight faced.

We employ the art of Wade clowns and Chekhov plays

to get us through long, dark, boorish days. Fishermen!

We’re trolling the backwashes, waist deep: Set the hooks.

K. Shawn Edgar | Writer | Telepath | Fixed Gear 45×17


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