she walks the composite
of her fragile nature,
a clean sweep to survive
another day
another breath,
no more does she delay
her sense of order,
no more victim of
restriction,
her style
free form
freedom of choice
and circumstance stands
on its own and
she stands with it.
First Snow
whiteness falls
no two the same
maybe similar
like a quilt it covers
life's blemishes,
we trace our
footsteps and distance
believing foolishly
our intentions to film
the changes and
deliver the first
announcement.
darker shades
converging lines
blended into one
silhouette...
evening fancies
herself vibrant,
a nightshift of colors,
syncopated rhythms,
and sidewalk merchants
selling dreams;
daylight concedes
to the darkness and her
romantic mysteries,
inlayed with consequence
each individual
peculiar
and outgrown,
converging lines of
silhouettes,
leave each new evening
slightly different.
Venturing Towards
patiently behind the crowd
she leaves another side of
herself, refusing to hold back
her own selfish tears...
yesterday, fell from view and
her fantasy ventured towards
reality like an excited lover
silently cradled in her arms...
tomorrow, gently surrounds
her occasional memories that
remind her of her past...
Johari Windows
alone,
but with someone
who,
knows the details,
the specifics
of her memory
off the head
off the cuff
combinations of
things to say or
not to say,
not leaving
anything out or
to chance...
five minutes
or less
or does it have to be
as long as
it has main points
and topics...
I am a window
a window to the world
a johari window
of sorts like a liaison
to a captive
uninterested audience,
part of a whole,
regurgitating details
simple enough,
talking not too fast
or not too slow,
a pacing operation
where the difference
is practice
not perfection,
an articulation whose
watch marks the
time as it collapses
around the audience
and the momentum
changes outcomes
until it is time to go.
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