Untitled

a few precious words

are released unprotected

into the maelstrom

 

living on their wits

and the genius to melt

into an image

 

the mind’s eye trick

to trace pattern myth and ghosts

in the never-there

 

when we caress them

our crass manipulation

falls so often short

 

yet there they remain

imperious and perfect

our slaves and masters

Five stanzas, each one a haiku.

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