If I were to engineer a blind here
obscuring all of this bright summer’s day,
and thru the tiniest chink, like Vermeer
or Newton, a memory-spectrum display. Continue reading
dverse
(in)constant emoji*
tears of joy face – infuses tone beautifully
eggplant – phallus – eggplant
Continue reading
A reply to sonnet 17
Our love’s not horticultural. It’s not about
flora – roses, carnations – or geology.
There’s no mystery to our love other than why
we persist with something as unhealthy as this. Continue reading
Sonnet
Caught in the flux, memories shift again — each turns
an unmade bed. Words rearrange, meanings undone.
untitled
Two old palings lean together. One wets a rolly
wrist all knobs and gristle Continue reading
Peter Frankis writes 