Triversan, three lined stanzaed poem of any line length and six stanzas.

Watch his magic sparkling
brighter than wine in a lover's
face, dripping in fire glow.

He came dragging his
case of bottled dreams
opening each with his white teeth

Standing on the dusty head
of the road you used to
live on but forgotten its name.

Drawing faces in the air
that hang as if on silver wires
oozing to the ground to die.

His face moves like yours
how you know your fate
rests in amber bottles.

How he shatters your faith
with every newly opened
magical wave of his hand.


If inside I know where I am going, why do you insist I ask directions on how to get there?