The Rainbow Zeppelin

Blessed are those fingers

 that yearn

to write, even though fatigue drops the guillotine.

Blessed are those ears,

That swallow indiscriminately at the slightest


Of a forlorn relation barking dissent.

Matryoshka dolls

That hold hands and waltz

And remind you of something you couldn’t  have.

Kahwa steam

whose wraiths tickle your nose

and make you wary of Kalashnikovs

Byzantine shields over ignorance,

Brimming with the lamp of Rhodes,

The canoe

Rows away

And so does the silhouette.


3 thoughts on “The Rainbow Zeppelin

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