Monday, April 9, 2012

NaPoWriMo: April 8, 2012

These are the really rough bones for a poem,  but enough for today. 


The charlatan was a prelude
to the colors she’d see

Oh those razor-sharp
colors and their audacious

She shook along
with their wizardry

Laughed the laugh
her mother left
in the cigar box

Two modes diverged
in that yellow mood

Once she was a bad hunter

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