brave kettle boils and then clicks off silently

maddened mirror
drives the verse
to a different story
one-way clouds passing

I see it in your chain-link eyes
words strolling
past plain park bench
where nobody’s hat sits

fashion — a frilly portrait
stage rises
ink climbs
gathers new newts

let your eyes breathe, man
time is a would-be warm arm no longer
love — an open eye that sees the light

your verses breathe like skinny tall desserts
garnished with maraschino cherries
charm, style and mistakes

by mary ann blinkhorn

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