Take Your Time

R.A.D. Stainforth...in living color...

There is a place,

galactic and unforeseen,

removed from space,

like a ticking clock.

Remote, synchronized

as Shostakovich,

we bludgeon in unison,

followed by only one tock.

Unrestrained measures

surge out of time,

the world suspended

in each sweet stanza.

tk/August 2012

Join The Mag creative writing group.

image: Big Room, 1948, Andrew Wyeth

Ephemera

It would be foolish to stash it,
unlocked, under a rug or mattress.

I take it out often, inhale the fragrance,
alphabetize it, 
count and double-check it,
like foreign currency.

When my time comes,
I'll listen to Shostakovich,
and bury it beneath the tree
I long to be pressed against and kissed. 

Seeds of passion will sprout roots,
and bloom, uninhibited.

tk/June 2012


R.A.D. with Dmitri looking on...

*Still Life, 1670, detail by Jean François de Le Motte