my book, their knife

Stop cutting stories
stop slicing words
stop chopping letters
out of my everyday.
My life cries - very often sometimes
Tears trickle down
my whole
like yours down your cheek
when you peel & chop onions,
the dozen of them,
for the gravy train
on your merry Christmas.  

Stamp

A ball of golden yellow
hung like a lamp on the wall of the sky.
Freshly unwrapped-cardboard, bubble wrap, thermocol beans.
I sit glaring, stamping yellow dots at every blink.

Even the night has some sun in it now.