To explore the possibilities of words
is not the poet’s due...
I'm choking on dust;
the fine particles...
Pots
brewing on the burners of these corroded...
Their gifting spirits
live on in their absence...
Can you imagine
if you turned your head around...
I used to admire
women draped in black...
The prosody of your speech
And the melodies of your eyes...
I have fought many a battle, some that left me...
However this battle, this fight took a chunk of my...
Accreditation is not desired nor sought,
Creative images fade in whisps of memory...
Ever
So...
I sat beneath the apple trees,
On a beautiful spring day...
When that scrawny figure knocks at your door.
Do you shirk to hide beneath the floor...