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Joline

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Joline

Calm light

      that plight of the butterfly woman.

In cocao butter subtlety

she

a bridge spinner of lunation dwarfing their effort

                                                                              to meer

                                                                                    mesolithic

                                                                                            masonry.

Thimble those green meritocrats dear mother,

       my cat's cradle conduititioner

               twisting loops to labrynth

                       and back again.

Telescoping potential of ground eye grinders

          with a whimsy flicker of her moonlit wing.

 

The End
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Marcusmonk You're currently reading the poem Joline, which was posted on Jul 9, 2008 by Marcusmonk.

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