~
Bangle jangle
Strings of Mitra beads
Ankle-length sheath

Suzanna Hoffs
Painted lips
Shifting hips

Testing the poisons
Of her dance steps
Directly into the camera
~

I grew up in a dynasty
Protecting what was mine-asty
And keeping it all shine-asty
Which seemed to be just fine-asty

Soon I began to pine-asty
As things did not align-asty
My troubles would combine-asty
I needed some refine-asty

I called  myself your Highnes-sty
And sat back to recline-asty
From all the nonaligne-asty
That caused me to resigne-asty.
I’m going to confine-asty
In a places that are mine-asty.
ljm

Joining the dots
What will
It be
Will be a blot on the paper
A word a sentence
A poem perhaps

There it was
Flipping the pages
Was it the wind
True to itself
The sounds create
The rhythm
Too perfect

What do I say
I know
What do I say

Can it be the same
Will it be
As it was
Joining the dots

True to itself
The rhythm
Will they
The words
Make a line
A sentence

What do I say
Perhaps

Joining the dots