Well Old Son: Part Two

II

Diluted memories, ebb & flow, wash ashore. Golden Gate lights fade behind peppered peripheral wastelands. Vermin nourishment: a single image. Torn Levi's. Rotting toenails. The unlit corners of a Sausalito cave, where poems wait to die.

The black flint silence of blues eyes. The black grain stillness

of maple-bodied violins, unplayed. Tortured omissions,

the neglected heart of all lies. An impressionistic tattoo:

an inky tear falls on a pale face.

---

April is poetry month. 

I want all you Medium writers and readers to celebrate poetry by committing to a daily microdose of poetry! April is not the cruellest month!

Here's your brief guide on safe poetic microdosing:

Here are a few poems I prepared earlier for your experimentation purposes:

Stevi-Lee Alver is an Australian writer and tattoo artist. She lives in the middle of Brazil with her wife. She loves bush walks and waterfalls but misses the ocean.