Feste's Lute

Scribbles & Sketches of the Unspeakable


The words fall off
a duck’s beak
in a spiral. Leafed
tendrils extend in
the disturbed vapors, agitating
your vision, drawing exposed
eyelids upward
in inverted
blinks. The mist congeals
around your wrists,
settling tremors
of heaped, tactile memories.
On your forehead, an index
presses inward. Fingered,
the seem splits and your
skin shifts awareness,
folding inward through
yourself. Quadrangles trawl
deserts, triggering lightning
that reaches your couch,
face still receeding.

You’re A Bit Uptight about Alphabetical Order, Though…

I need you.
Yes, you.
I see your
glance sweep wide
(a kaleidoscope
scattering listless
and I’m transfixed.
The folds of your
thoughts, like alternate
spaces and times,
are festivals of
variation… so very
alluring in every
advent. An icon.
And if I, with my
sidewalk comrades,
saw you
proceeding this way,
Glad glances
would chorus:
“She’s coming right
for us.” My dear,
sweet Thesaurus…

Songs for life’s lost lovers
bitter sweet their healing
Their prayers prayed under covers
need not kneeling
God’s one miracle
moves in circles

All My Life – Echo and the Bunnymen

(This lyric is consistently one of my favorites. I aspire to write something like this someday.)