Tuesday, November 17, 2020

Previously Published in Conceit Magazine . . .

 Her Blanket

is the equivalent of baby kryptonite.  She is helpless
in its presence.  All activity stops when contact is made
with soft pink plushness.  She cannot resist
burying her face in the fabric, clutching lone embroidered corner
like a life raft.  Instantly, her energy is drained as she wraps
herself in its comforting embrace, quickly slipping into dreamtime.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Previously Published in Epigraph . . .

To Spin Or Not To Spin Static transporter taunts me infinitely across a room of mirrors, reminders of necessity.  Cold motivators of perpetu...