Sunday, June 25, 2017

Twenty-Five June

At the Tilted Kilt Mississauga
I try to tell my saga

Of a schism intentionally created
by someone impulsively berated

For the juices have slowly dried up
& the well has surely stagnated

This is a point of no return
& a loss utterly sedated

Three months are enough to know
if issues were about to blow
but when the heart sinks in blindness
there's no room for silence
but an emptiness awaiting to be filled up

after the well has gone dry.

masks are hardly

  The breeze from the rushing train Still brushes my long hair Still gives a moment of surrender   Masks are hardly Breathable Y...