At the garden party you drink weak iced tea in your disguise and watch the perennial progression around the lawns. You either move along in clumps like blooms of algae or remain stationary like well placed rocks at the edge of the sea or manicured border foliage. Watching the world present itself to you… that which catches your eye briefly expands into a thought… a vision… then moves along in ordered sequence… captured in the turn of a phrase or the flash of a nail...
Out of town
too slow, too fast:
in a secret life
in this garden
the storms of life
a rap on the door
lightening punches through thunder
yearning for warmer weather
lips quiver
with every breath
her nails buffed and painted red
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