Monday, June 25, 2012


When her brush stroked
those fat cheeks, chubby hands,
she could not know
that Goebel would give
her iconic images form.

How would a novitiate
know that her concepts
would draw Nazi wrath
or carry global hope?

The coin tossed in the air,
lingers in liminal space
before its called, destiny
distended above the heads
and tails of probability.

The Merry Wanderer grips
his satchel and walks on.

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