Who pays heed anymore? Three birds in succession thunk against the glass. Which/ one is pursuer, which pursued? Danger and excitement. Dance at full throttle.—From “Throttle Ghazal” Luisa A. Igloria, Via Negativa, 07-19-12

One way of the other, we will get out to get in.
There are no borders here, nor limits, no doors
To slam. I am my own clay, brittle now, but I
Will mould myself any which way I am pleased
To behold as my own creation, not in the image
Of someone who chooses to be absent or gone.

But who cares anymore? There are no measures
Nor beats I must march by, breathe by. I am free,
Am I not, to perish any which way I live or err?
Like my own moulder, shape or reshape my face
The way I want to meet all the same faces I meet,
And I will be my own healer, my last and final god.

Idle now, I am meant to dance at full throttle.
One way or the other, I will get in before I get out.

—Albert B. Casuga
07-23-12