Poem: untitled

gust catches my tongue 

like tales tied

in yarns yet strung

or parable naught begun

it warns be strong

like trees like song

stretched on intervals of

embarrassed temporariness

lo, our emporium of meanings

a banquet of searching

a furtive yearning

while over the years

turning pages

at a pace hither

adhered

my soul turns to complexion

to draw the mind in a blank

to draw a blank in the mind

to fill in the blank

to blankety blankety ____

there is no peace

for the forgotten ____

alas,

in slumber so solemn

til shaken to wit 

a breeze in the autumn

one day may lift

the dust from the sill 

as the next must sit

or settle the last

from the top to the

bottom.