Simulacrum for the Blues

I.
the moon slips through a keyhole
insinuating home where
the nearness of you seems
very faraway from
what the tangible songbird
unmoved by the waves
of starlight decides to sing

II.
the door, the d'or
the sense of place
slowly pull the cork
inhale rubies
not only because of
thirsty mind listening to
gypsy strings as dusty roses
gather ( Read more... )