by Lynn Strongin
A ROGUE WAVE may get us
what is the red priest writing, viola? Oboe?While the red pony rides free I was on the cutting edge of passionWhile the subconscious, that wily little beast, distractedAttention to the pen which had fallen off the table. The one that got awayPessimism:The single gladiola that failed to open its six points yellow as the sun or butter This is hostage taking: my joy which ran freely in dawn is now a thin stream of water unable to reflect a thing.