“Stolen art is a poison chalice”

alleged esteemed investigator

for whom? thief? collector? or

we who steal inspiration in cool

Invades closets of thought

attempts to discard sweater

worn at first meeting

nudges to kick out shoes

When flowers failed,

he brought sweet

basil, wrapped in hope

Singer, the thief, steals a dignity

as its needle eye blinks and moves

to fool the unsteady hand that attempts

to thread it.

A sign of the cross bid his goodbye

steamed meats, rubber sheets, canned

applause drifting from rooms trailing

Catches breaths

collects sweat

listens to cheers

In negative space his comments

dance with underlined words,

phrases, passages whole, noting

In the silence of its yawn,

it swallowed fallen skate keys,

hopscotch tokens, a collection

behind veiled eyes

in pose of the dead

she inhales quiet breaths

Morning coffee

spills

stains

wash a sonnet

Shadows lie to live, 

tell us we’re taller, thinner, 

flat as the earth was once

Teetering on galloping stallions

unfettered on flying trapeze,

girlish fantasies rock

A secret scrawled

on fans bound women