Look
is what
most people do
at the world as they pass by

Look at the forests
at the crowds
at flocks migrating
at clouds in an autumn sky

Look at the waves
of waters tossed by gusting wind
or rushing streams
grain fields that bend

But as you look, don't merely look
don't skim the details rapidly
take the time to really see
that the whole world is poetry

wow, anytime spark ...
at the very thought of it
I would have read as
there are matches (boxes)
with her perfumed fingers
she would have lighted,
a puff
a smoke
a momentary joy!
out in the fresh air and open
now buried as memories untold
between the blinds and folds,
twas those times such matches recall
when two young ones
not yet that old
would suddenly explode...

In deep and darkened shadows
stood two shabby, soiled, dolls
They were sewed with ragged stitches
their faces screwed in scowls

Killer thought them cute, with little shiny knives
then they attacked together; malice in their eyes
Two blades of sharpened steel, stabbing at his knees
Killer sang out loudly, "What’s your name there, if you please?"

ravage sweet
this cavern full of echos

watery wall
full of cascades of traffic
the night rush

sharpened through the blinds
angled through the limbs
sombre with the drizzle

old wounds that ache
where stitchs bound
betrayal

somewhere

there are matchbooks
with your perfume
touched moments

not hassled with regrets