a verse about
little,
sliver of time’s
string,
the best of all
i had
plucked from
the past
wilting like a
whisper
at peace on the
tip of my
finger
or wasted to
wind
like wasps on
skin.
been no dusk more
humble
secret slipped in
summer
tire swing over
puddle
spun out popping
bubbles.
fading people
shapes
at golden time
of day
mistaken for
reprieve,
on knees in weeds
with teeth..
stripped by hiss
beneath.
desert drag defenseless stray
batting hands
away-
unmasked henchmen
closing in
on..
sunset gone to
forewarn
dawn.
oft mistaken
mortal
grazing garden on
horizon,
golden lemon drop
propping
jaw,
melt me to my
knees-
eyelids part like
dying
sea,
a slip through lips
like portal
to flee what
battle?
a neon light turned
off by small
talk,
tuned into blocked
out canceled
channel-
pinching wick of
twitching
candle.
midst haggard times,
with ease..
reflections skim
along flat
air
as if flecked with
motes of
err.
not new to musing
you again,
lemon trees
forever,
we take the
stairs
lead nowhere
better
than last
time
we felt around for
each other
blind.
whose turn to feed
owner’s
pet
bred solely to
attack
fists
for treats,
hope dried up
meat
won’t upset
gut-
unmuzzle
me
not one to
trust.
true, had i been
keen
to
scale siren’s
braid,
i’d now be
there-
peeled of
pride
and balled up
scared
of blood pact
made.
clinging to what won’t
stop moving?
to us keep from
fossilizing
to three hundred
count thread
despite cravings to
watch sun
climb
to
heights
unperceived-
uprooted to
leave.
hands in the garden 
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