Saturday, October 15, 2011


Where are you, V – you hide from
me you make me look I can’t discern
if that is you it sounds like you but then
it’s not -  I can’t decide which you is which, of
course just when I stake my claim and take
the plunge you re-emerge, you mock and say
well looky that, a different tune but it won’t fit you
know it won’t so why don’t you come back, you just
can’t just leave me you’d be voiceless, so      said     V.

Side of Le Lupin resto, au centre ville last week

An Art-Official Flower

Their violetness drew me
such perfect alignment
that day – where the wind was wreaking havoc,
ripping fragile petals from pansy stems
sending street grit into my eyes.

I realize (they’re so discrete, these lavender gems –
peeking mavericks at play!)
I must rescind this counterfeit sign sent.
Their fakeness knew me.

Bled Dry, Oh My

Inkless pen :: wordrust

*V = voice