Inherent figures
come from multiple faces
a slow procession of bands
with their simple echo
flirt on the slopes of old adage
and I listen in stereo
haunted by their upheaval
I know
that this line descends
I admit
searching in the imperfect
my twin ego
I strike up on life
and awake lover
for too long a solo,
a shooting star, a loner
I bind in discreet bodies
and linger
along my imperfect bends
until I anchor


Copyright ©2007 Johanne Farmer