Jump the Fence

You fear you’re substandard
and you are,
’cause the standard’s artificial
and you aren’t.

Real shoots beyond
the best, jumping fences
we’ve erected, scaling
lines in the sand.

So when you miss
their mark,
catch the creative spark
they call failure.


blood lust

Clear tube fills,
dark blood swills
through a machine
that separates
red from the rest.

Without red cells,
blood is yellow
like the sunlight
filtering through
strip mall windows.

Men lie on beds,
women attend them.
Needles as hollow
as drainage ditches
dig into their arms,

drawing them
into a loop
with distant strangers,
these givers of life
to receivers unknown.

Word Prompt: lust