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The Ten
Commandments
of Creative
Women

by Meg Purcell

 
Sands of Time
by Ober-Rae Starr

with blinds closed
we linger
a moment longer
at the threshold
of another
analytical dissection
squandering
the time we've been given

the gift of intuition
the ability
to disengage
from the notion
of arrested evolution

sipping truth serum
from purple goblets
tasteless
odorless
colorless
like barium cocktails
slowly illuminating
the source
of our afflictions
for which
according to all we've read
there is no
unalterable reason

at our feet
countless boxes
empty still
await neatly arranged piles
of carefully categorized
incriminating evidence
voluminous implications
tempting us
to reject
once more
our faith
in eternal exoneration
our innocence


 

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More Poetry: Where Grace Begins | Origami
Autumn Slumber | Counter-Claim
The Color of Drumbeats | Bread
Lightning in a Neighboring Town

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