Wednesday, November 30, 2011


You can finger the olfactory visitor--uninvited to the evening
with one whiff nostalgia bent
lending syrup to the memory
Nirvanic she! I'm drifting
if a shroud this cloud could be
I'd Juliet--yet, if I did,
I'd miss the fruit I suck in dreams.
Eyebrow and lip aligned:
they heed my General beak,
right flanks assemble
ascending to smirk
atop high tide on threaded string.
I'm winking, but not hoodwinked.
Briefly, blithely I pretend.