No Moat


 
 
rocks frolic

in the surf,

and shadows attach

to unfettered heel

–pretending ownership—

I
 
 
push through break

at shoreline

–angelic cur a stone-faced foreground

to cliffs that play dead

festooned in scaffolding

the teetering planks

cage façade and

dissembling,

I dismantle. . .

deconstructing

the architecture

of death

–instead of bread–

examine pain

pulsing

& flamboyant,

consuming

& unconsumed,

denuding

& gutted

–the wood drifts

from my hands

aware of fetching opportunity

the while long

–gulls circle—

on unseen thermals

paragliding without

billow.

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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