Without sun—
colored sweaters
were flavorless
and very neutral
like an old diplomat.

the hibernal moods
were suit-cased
and hand-gloved.

spirit was
an old octogenarian
dragging on a long staircase.

the imagery
of a paused butterfly
for a candid shot
was missing.

fingerprints of a bee
on the nectared flowers
were long gone.

the lava of snow and solitude
slowly filling in.
the deserted sky
slowly filling in
like an unholy cowboy
coming to a village.

polar lights with
chameleon morals
masked the brightness
of a starry night.

poems too
have become
were the guests
of late night tv talk show
were the swirling coffee cups.

—Drunken dragon with
a drunken tummy.

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