Waiting for inspiration to strike With lightning as the Archetype And this... This is my flaw Yes, this is the primeval turnpike I hasten to chase east winds, and ripe The pith... Such is the dawn This childish heart... seasons are the dike Patience like a typhoon and stipe And I... Not yet a shaw... Continue Reading →
Satirical Dances
For all of his branches The way they hold fast in a breeze For all his expanses Roots anchor to bedrock, he cleaves For nature's advances Battered, poisoned, soil stained and steeped Satirical dances Mourning most at his loss of leaf
December Rose 