Prism of war.(diary)

Prisms of war a Past tense storm
Riding out to those Rushes of the waterhouse
Points of a compass Rotate around.
Palms of Misdirection needles on leafs
Rendezvous meetings island card readings
Parasols for secret solitude.
Rolling mists hiding the lanterns light
Palmistry late at night on the bandstand
Rings of folded hands with their own insights.
Piercing blues darting reds rippling greens
Reed’s and invisible sounds

Prisms of war a Past tense storm.