Friday, December 11, 2009


I may waver
before my wavelengths
soar, gathered from pea-green
depths of bubbling soup,
fully measured
for spoiling.

Invited out
to doubtful places
we each must know, I'll step
blithe not grim, trimmed in
suits. Their smear

of plaid-scented
tears splashed with paisley-
flavored sighs, I'll rinse through
herringbone-strained smiles,
as the pinwheel-
peopled years

gargle my garb
fresh for bathing. Then,
to bathe I'll go, striding
on the bric-a-brac
bridge that spans the

where I wavered
before my wavelengths
soared, and plunge in to bob
atop chic'ry-swirled brew,
fulfilled measures...


Francis Scudellari

(This is a revised version of the poem that I posted at Flowers of Sulfur a couple days back)
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