The bark of my knowing
is rotting away
With grain left exposing
what memory betrays
Those things I pushed outward
root deeply within
As the oldest of wood
—makes the best violin
(Dreamsleep: December, 2021)
Second Guessing
This word or that word,
the length of the line
The meter, the rhythm,
to rhyme or not rhyme
Each voice comes unsettled,
new phrases diverse
Is it this way or that way
—when penning the verse
(The New Room: December, 2021)
Plain Brown Wrapper
If the message complex,
the delivery simple
The meaning the magic,
the words zero-sum
(Dreamsleep: December, 2021)