Deliverance

on the edge of tomorrow
my breath burst into silvery stars &
swelled
to touch the moon’s reflection
in a single tear
that sprang from wonder.

in this muted affection
you can still perceive
a slight trace of home,
calling endlessly.

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Paper Cuts

your story lingers
not in those letters ~
your feeble voice
never ruffled fragile pages,
nor did your truth
ever drip from fear-tainted quill

your story lingers
not on the cover ~
you never made it through
the cracks that hold a symphony
of old & worn

your story lingers
in paper cuts, resonant
on eager fingers, now stilled ~
then
I still had reason
to decipher you.

The Day Cruella De Vil Barked Up The Wrong Tree

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Cruella once told me to embrace my demon-stuffed destiny. She stirred puppy stew, elegantly, while forcing me to sew a black & white quilt. It turned out gray – I cheated – and she buried her daggered fingertips in my cerebral cortex. I broke my favorite cup of heartache (and her nose) as a parting gift, and left the door ajar. Cerberus would surely want to deal with her howls, would surely want to even the scales.
That day, I watched him paint the walls red.

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Mary Kling over at dVerse Poets Pub invites us to dive into Disney’s world for Poetics today. I went for prosy, quirky, and a little dark… just a little. Heh.
Come join us at the bar!