Richard Genovese
A pitiful glimpse
At what should have been a smile,
nothing moves me like the toy piano.
Rose bud cheeks ----the whiteness dripping with soiled promises
of the eggshell skies
Like the fairest climes tender yeast fishhooks race
where wandered the dainty knight
through low tides, sifting through ambergris.
The medieval Clancy coat-of-arms relishing the
humidity bears the sharp teeth
a gathering of sparks - under a thin blanket
of the predator over a bamboo shield.
When black worms slowly crawl, of snow digging in front of the copper mine,
for green - red oisters, in fire from ice, she floats... they always float.