The Batbat

MIDGE, you bitey speck from planet’s teeming fauna,
WRACKing larger peers, by stealth of smallness taking nips.
SONAR pings–you sucker, now meet your terminal bite:
FURRY, blind phantom of the night bats it wings, is on your six.

Titan Snores

APNEA autonomically belies body’s control,
TITAN, self-styled, can’t decree away,
NINNY, (is that you, Titan?), can’t knit up the raveled sleeve when he’s subject.
GAUNT we all, under circumstance, health and numbered days finally outside our grasp.

Ramen Days

RAMEN days, eking by, not feeling it. Then
STAID life, yards, mortgages, or wishes for such.
WOODY ambition can arise to hike among trees, go camping, be simple. Most days, though, you
BASTE, cook in your own need for richer flavors, bar for contentment rising.

A Place in the Story

UTILE, to get away, sit by fireplaces’s
DYING embers, recount your own story to yourself: vast, you a small player in it, yet
ENDOWed with role and place among the characters. Why
SULLY with grasping dreams or diminish by whispered “too small”?