Mosquitoes
Slapping
through weeds, I walk
into deeper pastures,
my neck and arms speckled with their
war paint.
Homer Redux
Blinded
as all poets
should be, I work on feel
alone, improvise my dark jazz
onstage.
Return to the front page of this issue:
Amaze Vol.
4, No. 2
Go to the
Poets & Authors page for the poet's
biographical sketch and email link.
All poems are copyright © 2006 by their respective authors.
