1 New Poem

The Last Tune of Summer
The cast of amber skin in wave tempest,

grain affliction to the cast-hitting curtain;

remembering the sniff-smell of hair dye shades:

synthetic as they were, synesthesia of heartbeat.

Prosaic shuffle of metal and licked lip gloss,

thought you had some arc of time's justice to

build this brittle piece upon, thought you were

so much more than smouldered ashes and cigarette signals.

We stood in the low-light deaths of merry-go-round

streets, calliope trills spilling as Niagara winery

in the lop-side river of July evening graces

taking in the last drops of sweetened water, the

last time of carelessness.