Stile

well, seems like a distant growling
the cats stomach that is, growls mysteries to her mind
and she leaps,
afraid of the foretold lightning bolt
assured of the might of witless dreams
she tumbles abundle along solitary roads,
naps and stumbles awake
along the nile.

Allowed Seamlessness

Overused words mouthing final goodbyes,
nonchalant excitement dreamt up on cold mornings,
the joy of finding treasure in someones eyes,
an ugly murmuring under a blue sky.