Titled

(This time I've quoted my own poem titles. Everything in quotes is a title.) "Dear reader," again, this monolog persists. We're no longer "sparring" with figurative fists. "The blood of an Englishman" is my last token, "cursive curtsies" for "love unspoken." "The magic of your arms" is now "unattainable," "man glitter"'s sloughing unexplainable. "Footprints in time" lead to your "home garden," now overgrown with common weeds to pardon. "This is the place" where "pruning" is "timeless," and "ballroom backgrounds" are forever rhymeless. Briars pull me close with roaming stickers. "The stars in the sky" "wake me" with sharp "flickers." Doves' worn "coos" sound more like "snoring." "The shape of water" is a tsunami pouring. "The balcony bows" like "uncommon courtesy," "bolstered" hardwood buckling to be free. "A safe place to hide" is looking vastly glum. I cling to the shadows like "coffee table gum." "Winter contemplations" are an everyday thing, like "blackout poetry---detached," a missing ring. "Forsaken" "spiderwebs" hold your "signature scent," though they are as broken as bent. "Winter twigs wither" like a limp "paper boat" immersed in a "defenseless," old moat. "All that remains" "for the headstrong and wrong" is a broken cassette withholding our song. "I will care for you" like a "scarecrow in still life." "The widow's pew" has gained a haggard wife. "Birds through obscurity" perceptively lag. "Goodbye, love..." I impart to you "freedom's flag." Don't "call back the curtain" to yesterday. "Installments of lost time" are impossible to pay. I'll be as strong and "brave" as the mighty ant. Then came the "thought thief..." "Will I if I can't?" "No proper goodbye" would satisfy my "appetite." A morsel on the path to "winter's endless night." "Maybe" the "earth meets firmament" on the brink. A "snow globe refreshment" will be my last drink. The "typewriter" points "westward," and there it shines, "clinging to (these last) undulating lines." 9-25-2023