West to West Collection XXII

Days fair with their hem

hick nights sworn unearnt

with tears long after sunset

queens fine with their barnet

stitch tiaras lite on no princess

ergo her prince weighs tactless.

I found her in a blank below

his window to the quilled note

but since she’s his talent’s rote

he thought up her mom's clothe

calls himself a prince, no photos

in blanket of her regal metronome.

I tried again like an elephant

ears, hands, big in early arms

composure in heavy orchestra

the sobriquet of heavenly rants

feelings bearing motherly psalm.

I felt her in debt timezone

her raft loft all of her own

so a mom's drifting slow

at green, which known

saves a colour I wrote

yellow and red hope.

In a world of math and trad

it's her orbs that dampers

at doors after my forever

traversing every rational

a canoe of no new river

dreaming of his islands

where he mighty math

by a soulical calendar

and the remembered

curse at every writer

say my words bitter

o death’s accoster

at fate boulevards

philistine wrestler

I wished the stag

I often wrote her

a sader secant

riftin’ me apart

o shear faster

for the letters

wholly, I had

was my gap

here nigher

a gap map

they star

clearer.

Shepherds’ merry-go-round

right match, to wrong house

flagged by hindsight grounds

freedom eavesdrops her town

an artificial door lets in a shout

not a wool black in every crowd

a mask of colour hour to shroud

his broken doubt in neon bounce.