time brines 

and wrinkles deepen

during times like these, I'd rather be pressed 

like a tulip shoot

 between the pages 

of a diary,  

and left to dry,

 preserved 

hidden from the scorn of spotlight

as it spins over the face of fascists

well-known and

smiling, 

glisten-toothed and hungry 

eager to make nations forget 

the smell 

the soot

of a fur...

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Manhattan Morning

the cat was sick

I cared for it

which made me late

to catch the bus

which got caught up

in traffic jams

so I got off

to walk the last few blocks

which made me sweat

under the blue sky

my brow was wet

with perspiration

out of breath

I stepped inside

a coffee shop

and bought a cup

of Espresso

and spilt the lot

because I ...

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