Feste's Lute

Scribbles & Sketches of the Unspeakable

Not A Given

Less pleas
and less pleasing.
Now let’s procede, plebe.
The breeds must acede
7 seeds.

“give me more,
give me more…”



These vanities
have vanished in
the hot Havana rains,
their edge is neither freehand
nor constrained.
And, while the nights
are wild, we mustn’t
quibble with
our childish glee.
Set the sequence ending
then repeat,
sainted readings faint.

Edge Case

Fostered in a play
of masks and paints
our time was taken,
boldly, far away.

With regrets,
no parapets
were harmed
on our ascent.

In avoiding risks
this awful void awaits.