POEM 1

SLEEPING DRAGON Never did trust the crescent of his eye

The way it squinted slightly and made his smile awry

The way his grin was rigid as if hiding inner guile

That to this day he still can't say he recognizes, while I never do hear sincerity of voice

Instead I hear the gimmick of his symphonic word choice

My senses are distracted, there is no more awful noise

Than the boldness of his silence in a misdirected hoist

He thought that he could carry his facade along forever

He thought that he could challenge me but I was far too clever I think that he is primitive in his female endeavor He walks like me and talks like me and studies me with fervour; A fervour falsely fermented, prematurely demented

Furiously fostering a fabricated melonhead

Finishing conversion of sweets to yeast

To satisfy immersion in unprecedented feast... Though some may say that it's been done I've never seen it done so well To carry me along in song in order to surpass the spell

And though I know my letters well, and though I read between the lines, He leaves me with my own brigade to compensate for what was mine. He leaves me in his silent mood, departing so's not to be seen

Withdrawing from himself and so departing, too, from me. From where he is I can be seen. From where I am, he can be imagined

For what he lacks I compensate, though to my fire there is no dragon-- No one but I with all this passion No one but I with full moon eyes

Never trust a sleeping dragon, Never trust a crescent eye.

2013.