(a tanka) she breathes best unspooled, syllables spilled silver soft. bait her with a phrase, line cast out long and ready into wordpools filled with stones.  

A thought. A memory. A good morning, as if there was such a thing. A cup of coffee. A necessity. Be honest, darling, we are addicts. Increasing speed of life, and time, it has a mind of its own. It stands so still in daylight,…

The park is quietest after hours. Trespassing thrill, not for cowards. Soft moonlight upon the pass. We find our place within the grass. Forever there, through the night. Good morning comes at dawn’s light.

In such a narrow margin, close confined, Between the crushing depths and empty space. This thin, sustaining band where life can grow. How perilous existence is for fish. PROMPT: Set underwater. FORM: Unrhymed blank verse.

One, two, three, four, five, six Submerged and amused. Thirty two, thirty three, thirty four, thirty five, thirty six Holding, pressure building. Fifty six, fifty seven, fifty eight, fifty nine Bubbles dance and race away. Seventy five, seventy six, seventy seven Eyes sting, lungs protest….

I both love and hate Sunday mornings. Tomorrow, it’s back to work. Back to the Computer and If then For each Next x. End sub. Sigh… I both love and hate my work. Yesterday was Saturday, And I’m old now, So, I slept. Drank first. Two…