June 2021

Irene was a nasty dream. Waking up with colors in my eyes, watching her falling down inside my mouth. I was covering my ears flat as possible. The rusty wagon dripping old and wet, it slowed— stopped. My hurricane is me— I could not know. My flashlight told me that. Fueling myself to push back into normal, I could convince myself that was just a nasty dream Rainer Pasca, 14Bay Shore, NY

I’m thinking of nothing. My head is empty like a garbage can. Oh, I can’t write this poem. Hey, look. Rumi is on the table. Rumi, why don’t we make a poem? He’s purring! Awww, he is purring the poem. I love you, Rumi. You’re the king of gold. Rainer Pasca, 14Bay Shore, NY

I was in a forest with nothing but my mind. It opened a little bit— lifted its mouth like a shark. Suddenly, a bird. Snap, said my mind. Delicious! I didn’t even say hello. I just walked home. Rainer Pasca, 14Bay Shore, NY