my tongue, a honeycomb ripening
in June’s light, my words take flight...
Smoky pine, cedar, and cloves
haunt the grove close to home...
One old, outrageous ogre
growls at a greenish ghoul...
When empty
it means there’s nothing...
In the
silence...
Poems bloom with warm sunrise,
nectar of words sweeten morning coffees...
The hills were steep,
do not push your fragile ankles up there...
the impossibly soft hours of dawn
patinas into weightlessness...
My tongue is toxic,
my passion...
Deep in the night
I wake up with such a fright...
I am not a caged bird,
but sometimes, I prefer the isolation...
I'm sorry I didn't look after you more
That I caused irreparable damage...