Wee Valentine Poem
one flower among many,
yet she smiles to the sun,
because she's never been forgotten.
her fragrance stuns the troubled mind,
silk petals sooth wounds,
and her courage bears heirs among
the vulnerable souls.
Tomorrow's confederate
when the earthcrust churns, bounces and heaves, whilst a murder of crows gyrate as dead weight from the brumous heavens, spreading their poison of black omens, and the farmer dines on his wife's ashes watched by the senile eye of the hooded sun, the mute hours limp in tune with the yelping dirge of soused wraiths wheedling the aggravated billows to unleash their voltaic outrage, a figure forges ahead with nimble skill across seracs and moraines formed from man's repertoire of prosaic enterprises nullified. wary of loquacious hierophants promising opulent vales and sordid potlachs sprinkling trinkets of convenience to the comatose drove as they wriggle in flat resignation inside the labyrinth of their own dun-hued, stale abdomen, the wayward wanderer tersely censurs a dying world's lore from his ocean deep soul and takes in the beech's cool shade the little death in a loving embrace. engulfe...
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