'Speak-easy As The Sapling Blooms.'

 

Struggling

With a visual screen,

Flickering

With the delete button

Scanning the outlay

Like a sniper awaiting

To kill the ideal that

Sits in written form.

 

Mr. Serene stands in

The solitude of the muzzle flash and crossfire,

Pirouetting on the wire.

Scared to highlight,

Scared to paste and copy.

Then an invisible hand

Rests on his wings

And speaks easy into his ears softly.

With this a tiny hand invisibly

Moves across the script,

The being chained between dead stumps

Breaks free and the stank

Dormant stumps sprout freely into bloom.