Pillow (an acrostic poem)

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Plowing and sowing the world of sleep

It was hard work, but he was a farmer to his soul

Little furrows stretched to the horizon containing the roots of fertile dreams and scream-inducing nightmares

Lying there, waiting to be harvested

Once he was ready and picked them, Morbius would pay him handsomely for this crop

Wait till the slumbering humans were served these delectables!

Scrap (an acrostic poem)

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So many pieces of his soul littered the landscape of his life

Cluttering memories with strong emotions

Reaching down he picked up a shard, careful not to crush it

A bit of a smile flashed across his face

Perhaps it was just the cocoon that he needed to emerge beautiful and ready to fly

Angle (an acrostic conversation)

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“And that’s when I asked about his heavy drinking past”

“Now that’s a new one.  I never knew he did that.”

“Gonna confess, he doesn’t have one”

“Let me get this right, you asked someone about a past you know they didn’t have?”

“Everyone has a ghost, I just picked the wrong haunted house.”