Nevermind what the forecast said,
your mother knows better
She read it in the furnace fuel
Behavior indicates
strong clouds
all trying to congregate
one mass
dissipating
Ocean has fled from our faces
and this is nothing new
under our tugboat satellites
Principles of magnetry for a cell,
no different for a star
Storyline to shoreline
I have a dead man's bag
inside imploded parachutes
suffocated
a little hot air
and a handle would help
but the balloons lost
their baskets
and the loom lacks a weave
A calla lily earns her last chance
rarely hails her hand
her clear hair recedes the rain
A lean candle nearly dead
lain against a rail
Under all this land yells a creed
that chains itself to Monday
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment