SPOTLIGHT: The Crepe Crusade by Todd Paropacic

Mill Creek

Still and green,
But you are not grass.
The wind will not wave you,
And the birds can’t ripple
As they pass.

The algae roots your banks,
And communicates
With the shrubs.

Still waters,
And what they breed.

Wet, and slow, and crass. 

DMs From Alice

I’d like you
A whole lot more,
If you weren’t real.
If you were
A figment in time,
Or a video clip
That I could rewind,
And relive only the parts
Worth watching.

None of that,
“How’s your day?”,
“Work is killing me…”,
B-roll reality.
My calendar
Only has room
For your highlights.
And even then,
If a tree makes a tweet
In the woods,
And nobody cares to read it,
Do you even matter
At your finest?

It could be a real zinger,
But swinging a stick
Doesn’t make you a swordsman,
And screaming into the air
Doesn’t make you
A beacon of hope.

But believe it,
You’re the closest thing
I’ve ever come
To having a friend.

Did I say it was your turn
To speak?
I have air to breathe,
And the gas
That you’re pushing out
Makes me feel nauseous.

Thanks for listening.
I’ve got to go
Be my best self.
You should as well,
Definitely A LOT
Of room for improvement there.

Types I

There are three kinds of people;

Those who love wealth,

Those who love honor,

And those who love the spectacle. 

Information Age

So many big brain ideas,
Not enough heads to hold them.

The Eye

A storm has been haunting
The horizon for days now,
And the clouds haven’t so much as
Spit a drop in my direction.
It’s a wide eyed billow,
Rolling and bubbling,
Welling and swelling,
But when will it burst open,
Crying bitter, chilly tears,
Collected like shiny coins
Or expired postage stamps?
What blue ribbon stallion
Died to stick you together?
What yellow giant collapsed
To generate the pull,
Holding all that rain in your belly?


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