Kurt Philip Behm

Prisoner Of Disguise (+1)

The words flock together

  and stretch on the frame

 

Their meaning runs over,

  still wet from the pain

 

The canvas is porous,

  the easel maligned

 

The curtains blow outward,

  faces calling in mime

 

The streets all a-chatter,

   it was Paris in spring

 

And striving to look busy,

  the most important of things

 

Looking back at my window,

  above the tannery so high

 

A shadow stares back

  —and I flee in disguise

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)

 

 

Forever On Hold

 

A literary sociopath…

  Hemingway wrote

 

Both gifted and tortured,

  his words they provoke

 

A verbal combatant,

  new victories untold

 

His last proving fatal

  —all memory on hold

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)