Poetry

The upstairs rooms ooze sticky heat. Each doorway is blocked by A wall of dense hot air. My computer too emblazons its infrared mark On my desk, My arms, My hands The windows are open, to let in air flow, But the stagnant musk of summer clings stubbornly To the

How does life begin to love? When the climate warm and wet, was there two inside a cove where crimson threads for first time met? Perhaps their webbed toes did entwine, amphibian intimacy, as waves collide with rocky cline, their hearts beat with celerity. Connection! Now the nexus forms for

The follicles wave gently through the air, Brushing my neck and forcing my recall Of burdening presentation or flair: It has become my time to face the fall. Wisps ethereal wafting blue, pink, white From iron strands that chain me to the world Containing my leap from twisted play to