Scrappy, silent noise

jarring you almost back to sleep.

Gentle sharpness –

scissors cradled in an angora wrap


Pointed glass

traces a red trail

down a graceful curve of flesh.


Under the ground and over,

moving with slow speed

massive momentum

screeches dangerously around a bend,


and down.


This flat, contoured day.

Mountainous times

from a distance

as textured as scratches

on a polished pool-table ball

rolling around an undecided day


Violins, violence

Bach to hard city jam


or heartstrings

rippingly played?

Sue Boudreau