The world is unblinking as a lizard's ineluctable stare. Sharp as glacial ice. As pen transforms page to magic labyrinth, To fable of creation. This evening the words inside me Are sentimental as a grandmother Bawling over the poison of history. The letters smell of sorrow.
Images grow Become bright as a medieval illumination Their margins haunted by beasts and gargoyles.
The whole show swells like a fabulous pearl. Proudly, I am fingering this newborn thing.