He had polio, or maybe scarlet fever

Sat in a river to find some sense of  balance

In a life he couldn’t understand nor contain.

Beauty is an illusion

Brought to us by the fallacy

That something looking pleasant

Would most probably be pleasant.


This cannot possibly be the case

As a mountain can look beautiful

Until it is spewing lava

Or burying you under an avalanche.


My best friend is the spenster

The elderly woman with no driveway

Or sense of belonging.


My best friend is the tree

With four distinct trunks

Branches hanging out everywhere.


My best friend is the skunk

The one you hide from

Because it smells like you act.


My best friend is the pond

Everyone ignores

Even the geese.


The unattractive is beautiful

When you realize the beautiful

Is typically the most dangerous.