Life carries her green magic market. Verdant veracity will be verified. Time will be devalued and beaten.
Tag: micropoetry
Growth
Soft static reaches her fronds toward an insatiable earth. Growth is a capricious master. I lick the salt from the rim. I lick the luck. Ferocious, fecund februaries try desperately to mate with the various Mays and Junes in my autobiography. My book of life written in rose for an audience no one knows. Snow can not long fellowship with sun and her recalcitrant rays. On the farm in my mother’s diary, sheep raising men.
Fridays
Frilly Fridays get friendly with Sundays, barely leaving a leave shaped hole for Saturday to breathe in. the good times don’t roll. They’re octagonal. My education was hormonal and orange. The weeks wear Friday as a fancy fascinator.
Splendor
The rays of the moon in my dance,
Lethal spillage of color.
I’m short on butterflies.
The hypocrites are barely saved.
When I lose my voice
Splendor will smell me.
Saturday-
Closed water storage area.
What does the # Sign Mean?
Gold stop sign. Blue go light. Our teams will fight on the train home. What comes next is rain of diamonds and jars.
Abuse
I died as a child,
and drew my first breath
as an adult.
Candles
Candles have been exonerated
for their role in framing the dark.
Suspiciously, the corners glance
sideways at the humiliated wicks.
In the Woods Behind the Houses
They carry shovels,
concrete mix.
The soil opens before them like a purse.
Micro Poem
I am tucked in beneath my lid,
the jar lined with velvet.
Dead
Dead now, I move to the grass
and develop a conscience like film.
Miniature Moon 