Thursday, April 3, 2014


Windows open,
flags unfurl merry
for the drone parachutist,
fever on wings.

Global-scented lines buzz
unsucked and sweet;
constant as carrier pigeons
in the Great War.

Pollen is everywhere;
impeccable flocked spring,
piled high and yellow
for the taking.

Accord awaits, honeyed,
barely breathed,
motionless with yearning
little sins madden the sting.

tk/April 2014

R.A.D. Stainforth adds a little stingy-zing... 

*photo by Francesca Woodman 


Inject a few raisins of conversation into the tasteless dough of existence.
― O. Henry (and me)