Author: leona allen
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#019: Stability goes out for the eve.
Is Stability the thing we choose Or the thing with patent dress shoes on Slowly making its way towards us? Shiny Shoes slides a bar napkin inked with their number Whisper-shouting over the sounds of chaotic good “Give me a call sometime.”
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#018: No news is good news

Esperar is a perfect little word A verb collating all those little wars Between hope and expectation Including the monotony of waiting
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#017: Sunday Triolet

Who likes the cold side of the pillow? Trading comfort for ice, first thing in the morn. Is it some martyr-complex, some desire to be hero? Who likes the cold side of the pillow? Why would your overworked and underpaid cheek want to be below zero? Attack their senses at the crack of dawn. Who…
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#016: To make work for who?

To garner respect under their watchful eye He gathered the gold-rimmed dust, the dirt, the crumbs And wove them into a tapestry of pride Their glassy eyes, tumblers full of island rums . That hum of panic, soul’s departure drum will Lead one down those syncopated streets one By one, tongue to the sidewalk, sweeper…
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#015: Like leaves on the ground

Crumpled foliage Flood the streets, the house, the heath Bare spines in plain sight