vince gullaci Poems

The dream
of return
when all I have
is the door
...

The lolling summer breeze
brought the low cloud
of bubonic proportions
putting an end
...

Perhaps
you can turn me
into a tree
fell me in summer
...

My only way
of flying
is by
the seat of my pants
...

My mouth
ran ahead
of my ears
i'm so
...

Intimations of mortality
with the irrevocable
passage of time
and the lemming like march
...

Straight from the amateurs
and into the ruck
from the first bounce
I was out of luck
...

Poetry
lifts the mask
from the soul
bares
...

I rise from the morning frost
covered in white
barely a ghost
of the newborn
...

These little vinaigrettes
a taste
of life
bitter sweet
...