Not too deep

All I write
Is all I see
The chair is
Empty
This poem is
Haunted 

commute

the rain 
suddenly
the bus
trapped by the traffic 
light
two blocks 
away 
under my three-
dollar umbrella
i remember a boy
friend who told
me then 
still
your storm

midweek evening

hot air 
blowing from 
the fan
my back spasms
as I sink deeper
in the warm
mattress
the tv sleep button
struggles to blink
awake