I. Cosmetic vexation
Like sore eyes liken time’s erosion,
That I could shoot bird’s tail straight
In a strained, unforgiving motion
And pierce the wood it longs to dictate
For taste of boysenberry akin to poke-root
Is vivaciousness to vicarious fate
As all time crushed under stiff boot
Comes to rest in my heart of late
The figure of whom blurs ink’d lines,
The one lament stalks in to frolic
I find not will but fury of wives
Throat swollen, song of symphonic
Woven in pieces and a bow is strung,
Like a prayer for a song often unsung.
II. Sparring intimacy (to be madly besotted with)
Who the wise owls are, mothers of maids know
Must it be in truth woman is shaded
And we cannot be but degraded
And equated to a mild, common evening primrose
Thus god forgets not where potential grows
Rising wind of suitors that serenaded
The she-wolf’s bite waiting ill-fated
Bleeding through her nightclothes
We would like to forget
So plagues the mind of those better off
Some child in me does nothing but regret
Lost freedom comes with mind going aloft
I am but a collector, humble and adept
Of missing pieces of my life I’ve lost