ditch,

Peter Specker lives in Ithaca, New York. He has had poetry published in MARGIE, The Indiana Review, Amelia, California State Quarterly, RE:AL, Pegasus, First Class, Pot-pourri, Art Times, The Iconoclast, Epicenter, Subtropics, and others.

                                             Temporary Temper
 
                                    Sky scabbarded in scud, the leather
                                    made of bunny-scut, that’s there and then not,
                                    better than knot.
 
 
                                             Any Number Of Times
 
                                    There are a number of speeds evident
                                    in the leaves of trees and plants on hillsides
                                    and the shades of greens are also branches
                                    along the spectra of rate and change.
 
 
                                                       Demon
 
                                    Something in me is scary, it appears
                                    when I am weary and liable to fly
                                    into a fit of mischief – a misfit
                                    bit which you wouldn’t appreciate if
                                    you were the audience, something I can’t
                                    stop.  It’s black, something else, really something
                                    else I made the mistake of letting get
                                    close back in the past before I knew better,
                                    that now I can’t conquer or vindicate.
                                    It says, let me out, sliding shut the bolt.
 
 
 
                                    A quiet pine, a period peace, a
                                    portion of space it takes without use
                                    of force, in the grooves of wind lets motion
                                    make inaudible sounds in specific
                                    songs.
 
 
 
                                                    Seeing A Shrink
 
                                    You are only one infinity in
                                    all this all which gets around and in most
                                    everything; this here all-out finite fights
                                    to dominate with its particular
                                    move or tactic, don’t you let it, shrug shrink
                                    off.