Orzo it Seems

my past was

a mess. . .

eating me alive,

but I flipped the tables

on it.
Covered it in checkered cloth.


Sucking up the whine.


And stopped tossing bread

after baloney.


Shaped pasta from

a past,

and repast


–I gotta say—

fare play.

Then presently,

my present

well, now, what about my presence. . .

more a presentation,

than a truth, so

I’m nipping it

in bud.

Forming friends

with myself to better distinguish gold and silver and tarnish, too,

my next

still so mysterious

who’s to say what’s next…

a nexus, I imagine,

combining all of that which came

B 4

2 day

–in interplay–





About Charron's Chatter

I bring to you an arrow, whole, Use it, or break it, But if you choose to take it --Know-- With it also, I will go. © Karen Robiscoe @1992

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