poetry Writing

Poetry Maybe #19

You don’t care what anyone thinks

Your word are spare. Stinging in the most graceful style
Has your time with the flower been

absent of petals to operate?

What’s the difference if the flowers surge towards

where their conscience leads – by train to homeland or

steamboat that passes Memphis.

The Crystal Shrine Grotto is isolated like your reluctant heart.

Whoever conquers the steep

riverbank surrounding you is worthy.

9 out of 10 people surveyed would cross the moat to have a chance

to give you peace in a room cluttered with closets and broken hinges

Those with mechanical knowledge cannot ponder how to

repair the layers of the atrium so the acoustics tell the secrets

of messy sparkling true love

Until then there will be no toast over the fire

One lover renounces another

The angel of divorce passes through the garden gate

The requirement of the flame is to be faithful

in creation and work

One step to the left can lead you into a vat of yellow sunshine

that Timothy Leary’s qualification cannot fix

the words get stuck in your throat

Maybe you will see your muted calls in the light of the street lamp


Until there is deafening call

we are just strangers

moving further into our own grotto.

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