Why shape them so?

What is it fills them?

Who is she fills them?

Has she a lover?

 Does he inspire?

  Does she have his faithfulness?

  Is it for him she fills the bottles?

  Is it for him she fills them full?



What Tangled Web

Breezes coddle feathers fly over ocean waves,

Psalms wrought her wings glide along old Polo’s route

‘Til tides not ebbed wrack the rocks at lighthouse gate

Comes her Knock



Still deludes, for yet yields not relentless night

A fool, has no deter comes seeking Ponce’s dream

And to snare, for selfish shadows eclipse her shine.


Black-turned moon returns her fear’s way home.



I Won’t Look

She forced her eyes away in subtle defiance. She wouldn’t be complicit in their malefactions — her possessions strewn across the floor, an inventory now ensuing, items deemed useless, dismissed as junk. What was left they twisted, cajoled, compressed and all done with no shortage of wild contortions, forced it fit into a few small boxes.

She could not cry for what she couldn’t see, but her stomach knew, for it was wrenched and knotted, a familiar plague of late for which she could find no remedy in a bottle or a can.

N’er Alone

Wee hours came whisper stirred my slumber,
“Know my thoughts start winter’s thaw,
Thy desires smolder as mine within me.”
Awakened found her there ’twas no stranger
For sleepless nights had shown her there before.