Sunday
six days a week
I create my world.
On the seventh day
I relish it
time and space are mine
to bend
or bask in
this is the day
the others revolve around
the sun
too hot at work all week
is friendlier this day
flashing smiles
off birdbaths
and winking
through the leadlight
wings of butterflies
Mitch Browne
Self-bout: sparring with heart disease
Beat by the bed
Pummel pulse sucker punch
sputters
ebbs
The starter I need
to saddle my dreams
Or the weakening chock
of a kitsch Dali clock
as it slips
from the
shelf
Puddle bub progress
lie without rest
A drink-slacked kraken
shucked from the shell
Mitch Browne