Strands
Wispy strands surrender
to a new form.
Folded and criss crossed.
An upside down basket woven by repetition and rain.
Their former erect verticality softened.
Once tall and upright, now a slumped covering, surrounding, possibly shielding those below.
Protectively?
Oppressively? Who knows....
What purpose does this gesture hold?
Did those relentless drops realize their efficacy?
Gravel, Green Glimmer
It reminds me of the sparkle from the tooth
of a bearded, boozed-breathed mouth
It reminds me of a wink
It reminds me of loneliness and hurt
humans and naughtiness
Do not fill
Stuffed teapot of rocks.
An empty,upside-down forgotten nostolgia.
Does anybody remember?
Who will care for this re-invention?
Once able to hold and be filled, now hollow.
My hand presses on my chest.
A sigh collapses my upper torso.
Uninterrsting, worthless, discardable?
That one! That one! They think not!
They hear the wisper of abundant, always available potential.
Silky smooth, steady, unchanging edge.
Four Part Breath
Beet. Screw. Strand. Rude.
Glide. Redline. Flap.
Bow. Open.
Brewbrow.
Her Towers Are High
She sees
sword with no handle
feathers
siamese twin oranges
She classifies
red clay-crete
mysterious underground hollow
synthetic pebbles