WEBVTT

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OK.

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This next poem is called
Wendy Hook and Pan

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and it's really not a tribute
to Peter Pan but to Wendy, so.

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Well last boy,
Tinder, cruel, demon

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of disguise, touching
something feminine

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like the great Pirates who
have given up hope not humor.

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Heartless child
caring for no one

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but himself flaunts with
curling lip at truth loss

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to death December.

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Exhausted by his combustible
soul, forever burning dreams.

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Old man in black and steel.

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Sign under his
crushed outsider's

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cool that watches the light
lick the edges of dawn.

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His Syrian reserve what remains
of an ever receding faith.

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Losing one place is negligible.

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Sustained by an ancient
knowledge, we are still here.

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Savvy old patron,
ventriloquists,

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self-satisfied, and despised.

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He glimpses the
ransacked remains

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of a heart crying too late.

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Homebound and protected the
flawed guardian of memory

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yearns for men long gone.

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Enclosed spaces, she
searches dry text

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for a fervor that does not fade.

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Renewed in time remaining, her
reposed proceeds performance

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on demand.

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Naivete is revealed as the
chill of common turbulence

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wanting only the
surprise of sensuality

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to light her quiet smile.

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Her honeymoon luggage lies
in the middle distance.

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This silent woman listens
under bed clothes for fairies

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and rose.

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