Wings

 

 with wings I might fly
far above where moonbeams
caress the sea

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Fleeting

fleeting are our days
count count the hours as they pass
petals drop fore lorn

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(In years since)

I have buffered recurringcars -

Porsches in porcelian,

 

butteredbysun. Brakes

 

burning the shoes of sleep.

They come in (((crepe,) in chrome) with chronic road-less speed).

 

 

Theinventedones, I now

understand as: Things he too-late

imagined for himself:

Reclaimed in...

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Blend astride a hummingbird
in the pollen-tindered
 
parade. Shiver (waiting)
on her capable bright wings. Now, unpin
 
the holiday grenade! Flit your place
in the thrumming herd
 
of cloggers, floats, and dripping sleighs.
Of its nectar, drain
 
the colliding night. Harvest
the eyes from...

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The first brush stroke

match-like,

striking canvas.

The iron saucer

she mixes her colors

 

in.

 

The frame of her day,

flaming,

searching for

its subject. Stoked,

the coy flicker,

firebox baring

imagination.

 

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