William Weiss
On the Road to Emerald City
White knuckled I gripped the smaller half of a wishbone
A receipt with a hastily scribbled number and a heart
That would never text back
But I, the larger half of a hope
In your clenched hand, three quarters of a smile
A number stuffed in my pocket with keys of Tin Man fingers
Wrapped around a paper heart
And you, the smaller half of a promise
I was given the gift receipt for the medals Oz gave to the lion
As if courage could be bought with store credit
Fluorescent lights and rows and rows of ruby red slippers
Selling the dream of no place like home
She will get her whole smile
When yellow bricks turn to gold
Tell King Midas, gold means nothing to a kingdom of statues
Bio
William Weiss is a writer hailing from Pasadena, California. He has a bachelor's in psychology and as a musician, he loves the rhythm behind words and the diverse dialog of interpretation poetry brings. You can often find William brooding over a line under his desk, sitting on his desk, on the floor, in a crowded elevator, or really any place that he has a second to think. He is a recently published poet in The Broadkill Review as well as Oprelle Publications, and a semifinalist in the Philadelphia Stories' National Prize in Poetry.