Feste's Lute

Nib

You confer far too much
in the ends of lines,
through pens that bloody pages.
By design, some rhyme must be internal
just like this hemorrhage.

Or, Rather,

The shimmers hand-play cardamom.
Felt Father flooded France. Go page!
The whoas censure blood working (for free rage).
Cocoa warmer 3, same page.
The play, she her Co-worker,
all her searching - franchise, go.
The shimmers hand the same.

Understanding

We were particles
entrenched,
swiftly-shattered spires
of meaning,
a trough and crest
that swept to shore
long latitudes below
the rest.

Our encounters — just
unlikely metaphors.

blazing skin

Audacious rays heat sand.
Polar-carbon rage
drawn phage ablaze.
She wielded phages
in salacious skins.
Beneath the roans feet;
broken polar screams…

Considered

It’s murder in the end.
All related plates
are stained
and, given that
the helix
is our fate,
grasping grates
and crescent wax,
traits pertaining
to a glacial pace
should be portrayed.

Mercury Elixir

He’s more than sane.
He brought sustain,
He bought clay clocks
to watch them wane.

As the prophets set
an armistice ablaze,
He stalks their daughters.

He’s more than sane.
He drowns their fathers.
He scries the pitch
for blackened waters.

His daughters flee
the madness at His gates.
He’s more than sane.

To the Hilt

Bureau crazy measures doled
in spoonfuls
by convincing slick —
surfaces so soundly underway
(our first foray).

Restless at
their measures,
the back room sort
of jester gestures,
cross word indications
now in play.

On Edge

The bow he tied
into your lace
can stay.
The sugar in
your hourglass
must wait,
to tempt the fates.

Jist

“Allure,”
a whim implied.

“Beneath its teeth, allure,”
an aside of a whim,
“and beaks.”

Muttering bone,
swiveling muttered
to brazen boys,
“The vulture
is latent beneath…”

“…beneath the bone
and teeth.”