Sometimes addiction mimics ritual and superstition,
invisible world of smoke's wispy curls
and chemical receptors that suck in like nectar
the silent substances controlling our world.
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an/un/certain point of view
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She leaps aside, Strawberries! Red. Long. French? Delicious. "Let's not eat them all", Shoving, Savoring The ripe one...
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A hand Held out: A hand Held it
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Lavender and scarlet Flowers blooming At the jail
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Taking strong emotions When they emerge And pushing them Back underneath Until their struggles end And I forget they drift Under-away ...
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Mist a train: Roll in the rain Up the mountain, Gust strained, Water stained Shield broken aim, Carry me remains.
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Driving city streets I smelled the scent of vinegar With the windows down
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Sixteen year old-growth Tree tries to flower each spring: Roots still too shallow.
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