still

the rosin rubs the poker face, it sounds of toccata. within the cloudberries, a tittle of bindi appears. she is she

rose bud

near the seaport, golden campanulas play rallentando, celebrating the Eucharist with winged sculptures, expressing mignonette and verbena in silence as the pecadillo and harangue spread the contagion. the invidious swirls circle the iris, melting into indigo wistarias as the irenic sounds of the tabla break polemic crumbs growing into the hazel and mulberry, shifting ground for the vivarium, a winsome land of natural play.

chipping

a spheroid spins dudgeon air around, around, around the eyes, scimitar rise, idols fall. an overpass appears with a palomino giving dinar for the voyage. scarlatina touches the medulla in the synthesis of air.

open tides

a galleon jolts in the rough blue, falling into a hiatus of bluegrass, circling amphoras on land, sounding fissures as the legatee rises with her sweet inhere.