Frabjous Times

cinquain poetry disaster

The unicorn taken by force

the pure of heart,
the blood of innocence,
the corkscrewing white form down to
the ground.

Then ask—
what is this field of still flowers?
what will these unsure find?
what makes sense now?
what then?
Last modified: Thu Oct 12 21:57:27 EDT 2006
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Previously published: Sat Feb 11 12:01:01 2006
Previously published: Sat Feb 11 07:15:50 2006
Previously published: Sun Feb 5 17:15:01 2006