Day 6

Her tilted head held em’rald eyes; her countenance – false-furrowed. Her mouth mixed signals: hold, unstable frown!

A Sonnet On Not Writing Much

I see that neither muse nor pen is spent.

Watching, all the while, th’Egyptian sky, she breaks upward, stands, and steps over and between baskets of fish ‘n grain…

The boiling blackcurrant’s sipped; thrown.

“Avast!” the axe-fall blade, abrupt, demanded death-industrial: it called, it falled, found its fortune to be laid upon the wharfway stone.

The past: t’was present, as the present: t’was pushed passed. The world: t’was floating ‘midst the passing future.

The girl knelt and stared at the grains, all gathered, of the hot, compacted sand, lowering her right hand slowly t’ward its canvas-surface.

Sunrise, then, o’er the city of the sceptre; dawn about the fort upon the chasm.

Should old acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind…

Mock SATs.

Ten days beyond a city sunrise.

山は安いです.

A water flower.

Crocodiles hold union on the marsh.

Upon the breeze, life’s sounds did sail; the people pottered past.