Peter A. Weinberg – Poetry

Spider spins webs of delight
   from her body

grateful for these crispy, crazy apples
   he eats them to the core

These glaring ghosts unstitch our hearts

So much joy in a pocketful of dust

She wants to be understood

Deceiver, fickle, ungrateful…blind

You weren’t then and shall not be

Stitch patiently…
   she lives the good hours

The familiar is stranger than that

Her breath like footsteps on broken glass

This life has no end
   this vision no limits

He changes his shirt twice a night
   and hates being photographed

Our ghosts hover and laugh between the troubles

Sunlight so bright it’s darkness

-May 31, 2009-