Dialectic death

Haggard-bodied men of letters
sat in a café
spilled their thoughts out
over coffee and cake,

a book
with animals
put
into experiment
ideas the men argued
crafting a communal farm
of much disrepute.

Reflections

Wasted charm is like a room
bereft of light

Youth
a forlorn gift
if not nurtured
rusts
fizzles out at last

Aged bones and tediousness
signal life coming to an end
and the vanishing of charm and youth
under a heap of dust.

Daggers drawn

She came rambling along with a Flaubert
and sat next to my table.

Condemned
as if by
eternal laws
I gazed
profusely
at her daintier aspects
Our eyes met
and I soared higher
singing chants of love.

Ignoring my soul’s beckoning,
her frigid eyes
danced to the simmering delicacies on her table
tore me apart like sliced bread.