And so here we are
Page after page
Hearts on fire
Exposing parts unseen
Beneath harden surfaces
Wounds unclean
Broken still we dream
On and on we pen
And so we breathe again

.
A rose from a window
looks like any other rose,
but as the old lady stares
out through the thin glass
a fondness develops,
begins to form a memory,

reaching back,
grasping the past,

that very slowly forms
the image of a rose,
proud in an old garden,
upstanding to catch the eye
of a young girl
staring out of a window.


© Pagan Paul (19/06/19)

every day i wake up
           expecting full formation
     only to discover i have yet to pop.

life feels like a kernel in my back left molar.
      

        i look for my future in
     yesterday's egg scramble.
       the yolk: no solution,
no bramble
  

i yearn all the more  for my unrummaged brain--
keep ice in my left hand,
sanity in the wrong vein.

i always fall too steep,
staccato fingers quick to adjust
a smile to a frown.
i always bruise my hips on the way down.


my glass-bottom floor,
my lamp-lit contingency.
all's  keepin' me afloat:
my swiss-riddled dignity.