Friday, November 12, 2010

#218 The Great War



Sometimes she con-
fuses words that
sound alike. Such as.
Violets & violence.

So. She thinks the
soldiers are off
picking flowers.
Have brought some

to her. She goes
out walking to show
them off. Back to
the sea. Dressed

for. All in white.
Morning. Her face the
color of violence. Some-
times she confuses

words. Not always.
Life is a parasol.

1 comment:

Poet in Residence said...

Jim Murdoch sent me again. He's right to do so. A lovely place!