Works by Ben Balazs

You were there. I was there. Leaned your head against my arm, And I assumed my arm chair. I chose to stare at your hair, Watch it rise and fall with your inhalations. And you slung your hair back To reveal a collarbone While your eyes peered over. And juxtaposed like sun and moon, Like button to shirt, Lip to lip, we kissed. But it dawned - there She goes again, doing that thing with her nose - On me where I had been all along, Baring your back upon my posture, Still. I hold you up, my dear, for fear You should slouch. While your spine aches for limber curvature, I stand my ground, I hold my pose, I hold you up, My dear, For fear, You should learn that I am a chair beneath            you.

The yard grows larger every day. "It''s all about verticality," they often say. Though I haven't yet heard of the Innovation - Watering a building to make it so tall. But I assure you, the weeds would Disagree, Puffing out their chests and flexing. A wildly sight indeed, catching even The attention Of nearby crows, Who briefly rest along the banks Of this jungled terrain. It did not occur to them - The egregious nature by which they scanned The ground - How unlikely they were To find prey. Yet, as defiant as the weeds still Holding their breath, Each crow cocked its head, Left, Right, Often convincing themselves that The bickering piles of drying leaves - Whom by wind were animated so - Were certainly the meal They hoped should arrive.