Diagonal blinds,
sun aims for the bench,
not me.
Margins offer sight,
dwelling on bougainvilleas.
Their periodic nature of willfulness
refuses a clean-up.
I stack my one pass through,
against its one of tons—
its lines’ continuum,
grants a surprise to everyone.
I can get jolted
from what’s to come,
and boredom can come,
and fortune can come,
and wisdom can come,
with insights that numb—
and that’ll be it,
done and done.
-
Author:
Duran Mazzana (
Offline) - Published: May 1st, 2025 14:18
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 6
Offline)
Comments1
Metaphors and images stud this poem. It seems decisive. Well done
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