Bright lights puncture holes
In the velvet-blue night sky
Crowds cheer for thunder
Buzzing about my
Head were worries with sharp points
Ready to pierce my peace
Comedy
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Fireworks
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Pointing a waxen
Finger, the sickly witch watched
The figure crumble
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Blue
Sitting on the dock
She watched the gulls fly homeward
Sea air filled her lungs
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Waiting takes patience
Patience takes understanding
Of which I have none
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Change
She stirred restlessly
Resentful of the morning rays
Shining on her face
Silliness
Don’t know what to write
But practice makes perfect so–
This is what I’ll do
