My bowl is empty.

Bits, spits, and washed out leaves.

The curling twig swims through circles,
Drowning in broken squares that look like triangles.

Crying in Spanish dance halls,
To the smell of jagged smiles.

Leave me a piece, a whiff, a touch,
To sigh, sorrowfully, with sweet incense.

---

Sunflowers and posies,
Nuts and bolts,
Painters of all things lovely,

“Circle my heart,
Cut it deep, with an ‘x-‘
Your riches are buried forever.”

*06.2011