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| Ups & Downs of a Brick Wall |
Piercings
All you poets
who pass along
aren’t you ashamed?
our poems end up
on perfumed blue paper
We live in cubbyholes of light
feeding wind-up birds
handfuls of organic cereal
once in a while a soft word
Our encounters are forced
brittle shadows of flying spears
pinning us to rumpled walls
I wander lonely as a shroud
that floats too low
over the streets
I don’t know about you
but I need a draft
of spiky blue ink
so thin I cannot feel it
when it pierces my parchment
