Feral animals generally dislike being stared at or approached directly. Certainly, Harriman noted, all children should be taught to share. Yet no one could have predicted the public’s responsiveness to Pop Art. Are we not always distracted by expectation? The small bridge in Arnéguy serves as the border between Spain & France. Put those warm boots on quickly, she commanded, before I change my mind. Trane’s early passing was indicated by Pluto in the Fifth House. The blinding glitter of the bay at rest. Cleanse, but not clench. Mystery, but not enigma. Some trees remain silent about their aspirations. Some trees are friendlier to strangers than others. Mit diesem Kerlis nichts sie machen. You know, the teased hair, the melting lipstick, the skirts up to here. The term now in favor is Opioid Use Disorder. Entire landscapes may be transformed in a matter of minutes. At his best, Powell could solo inventively no matter how demanding the tempo. My father is a notably patient man, he threatened. I, however, am not. If not leisure, at least a few hours of silence. Does it really matter, in the end, where beauty is found?
The ever-crafty Talleyrand was often mistrusted by those he served. Yet Miles refused to sound hurried regardless of the tempo. How post-modern of you, quipped Nora, clearly tipsy. This is not the climate for crazy eyes. Some cats, nonetheless, will avoid certain species of mice. What swordsman indeed sired such vengeful blood? Turner reportedly retained his Cockney accent despite his growing acclaim. You may overlook the garlic rub if you wish. The subtle significance of a single interval. Wander or wonder? Sparkle or spackle? More than one merry olde soul is usually unnecessary. Murrow, however, later recalled the elderly Adolph Ochs as he first met him. The wistful joys of windows. The gratitude of doorways. The lyricism of high-backed chairs. I liked it better than I thought, she confided. While Bonnard continued to paint Marthe as a young woman even as she aged. Ça digère toute ma vien. His expression, although appropriately solemn, gave him a wicked look. Dommie D., she called, you’ll get yourself all wet out there. It is safe, but it’s safer elsewhere. From across the hallway, an infant’s waking cry.
Sid Gold’s most recent book is Crooked Speech (Pond Road Press, 2018). He is a two-time recipient of an MSAC Individual Artist Award for Poetry and he was voted among Baltimore’s Best Poets in 2019. His work has appeared recently in the anthology This Is What America Looks Like and the journals OneArt, Loch Raven Review, Schuylkill Valley Journal, Backbone Mountain Review, and Maryland Literary Review.