My latest five-line poem. Pollock tends to float back to my brain for inspiration often. I’m doing the rare mobile post, so that’s why the formatting might look different.
Salubrious , a word you gave me; your favorite.
It pings the lesion in my brain of what once was.
Lost love tends to live on those little lesions —
that which used to manifest a whole love
now shadows a discarded Pollock painting.