Too brite days
midnights that refuse to
abide dark and secret
when empty phrases chant
to fairytale Moons
I tell myself
This is no ordinary room
This is no fleeting flittering life
This is a magical passageway
sparkling like mica, like miracles
Quiet traces
luminescent impression
a trailing kite tail binds
silent whimpers, sojourning whispers,
tears shining behind mime smiles
Crone's gnarled fingers, playing
to spite agony
simulate touch
beyond ache,
too brite cell,
crouching scarred shadow
I cast silhouette of metamagic gypsy
hand
offering
Laurie Corzett - libramoon42@mindspring.com
http://emergingvisions.blogspot.com
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