Heritage

I have been awake too long

I am too conscious

of the fabric from which I was made.

It does not prepare me;

I was cut so thin.

Perhaps I could not have taken

my inheritance of dissatisfaction;

all the legacies I have been left

in the margins of error

of these testaments.

But I have, and so it goes.

I am a gap in the generation

my young empty heart

a vessel so long filled

with expectation.

Mundane

The impending summer colours my glasses
The sun sets too late to think
between punctured syllables of the mundane
the dust, the unswept floor
the silverfish we could never catch
the coffee stains no one has cleaned
forever spilled on the front step