I discovered my family coat of arms.
Coughed so hard it shook the ground, since then I feel, my lungs are bound to your tinctures, your strains that render me euphoric in my left & right brains
the man and his donkey cart loaded with watermelons
Prague, I spent a month with you and your medieval spires, your Jewish Quarter that meant living space not one-fourth of the city
A plateau spills over with translucent hues Breathe the essence, and slash the glassy dandelions
Now into the future We’ll bathe at Brighton Be careful there, please, there where In your bathing suit so thin
You feel threatened in the day as well as in the dark. Women and girls, mere rag dolls, watched by predatory eyes. Murders. Violence. Assaults. Road rage. Kidnappings. Divorces.
A writer of eighteenth century should have Enough coins to buy brushes and ink To feed the complicities