(This time I've quoted my own poem titles. Everything in quotes is a title.)
"Dear reader," again, this monolog persists.
We're no longer "sparring" with figurative fists.
"The blood of an Englishman" is my last token,
"cursive curtsies" for "love unspoken."
"The magic of your arms" is now "unattainable,"
"man glitter"'s sloughing unexplainable.
"Footprints in time" lead to your "home garden,"
now overgrown...
Continue reading...