Sheep
Bare rumps and pink skin
Oily cotton piled high
Yan, Tan, Tethera.
Wendy
There once was a Peter, called Pan
Of kisses he was not a fan
So I got a button
Swiped from a Prussian
I see why he’ll never be a man
Revision
His hands were big & broad but soft & unlined
Turning leaves, sheaves of letters
In the saffron light on a bench the color of hummus.
How do you feel about icons?
“I like them just fine”
Mother Mary and her baby boy
Hide behind calligraphy’s
Curves and swirls.
And minarets form the periphery of
Iconography.
And he crosses out a line,
Deciding not to tell Mother Dearest
About the taste of the fogs in the mornings
Of damp silks and fresh yoghurt and
Mortar not quite dry.
The color of the sky
Prussian Blue. A mercenary color.
Cyan. Scientific. Subtractive.
Ultramarine. The expense of pharaohs.
Cadmium. Carcinogenic Mardis Gras.
Sky Blue. Hardly the right color at all.
Justice
Faces and houses in black and white
Left and right
Precedence etched in the skin
Crimes uncommitted written, a
Permanent punishment
Executed with needle and ink.
haha love the limerick.
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