Suffer None Fools
There is this
Justice
Woven into our hands
Spin this into gold, we will
Despite the untenable hands we’ve been dealt
Despite the phantom hands we feel
Extended to us, then taken away
The Fly
I prefer my quicker shutter
When lumbering around downtown
Up town, and out of town
These nouns all move
So fast
So fancy, in the vast
I can be about
Without being found out
With my quicker shutter
Double Monocle
You were as a fiery thing
Burning
Moving
Closer
I had to double-check
Closer
I said with laughter that only I was meant to hear
Yet you came nearer
Don’t question me then, when I ask
How is it you hear?
How is it I see?
Flagged: A Haiku
Calling all muses
Know that Wicked Wit’s amused
You are being used
Extol
Saying, “Shave,” seems sexier
Whittle is what it was and is
These troubles
These worries of war within
Away
No more
Summer has been here
Shrouded all along….
Original thought credit: David Houston; “Gonna Lay Down My Burdens”
Migrant
Rest your weary mind
My love
Rest your stricken heart
Permit time
Permit soonness
Permit fondness promised
When seasons change, as they will
When notes become no more
Permit the absence, too
