“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Tuesday, August 16, 2016
Poseidon's wild night
Pyramid fog under culdesac lamped dawn
dripping the muted color palette excessively
in purples-
white barely sprinkles-mists this early risen air.
The pacific ocean levitates and exudes its salt
over shoulders of waves-
to be gently folded back in
making stardust today.
Amphibious, us, yes, fib-i-ous, I am,
it hydrates the eyes
and settles the nerves.
A saline stench of lust lingers as gunsmoke
while dew sparkles in sweat,
the horizon still gripping the sheets
ablush in disappearing privacy
from the sky sleeping under the sea
buoyed up to blue skies nascency.
Photo By Sowls Art, U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, Bering Sea in fog [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Feather weather
Before I arose the tangerine sunrise squeezed its citrus air through my bedroom window dripping fresh pulpy nectar of a new day onto the co...
-
Water Today, warm raindrops glass blurs, the blurry glassy, sharp sparkles sugar. Behind Evening, it was good. Leaves all turned into shadow...
-
1. Of my Soul a street is: Preternatural Pic- abian tricktrickclickflidk-er garner of starfish Picasso...
-
The ship sailed West on Sunday The wind was too wild on Wednesday Our arrow plane rips the paper sky, severing space for itself, i...

No comments:
Post a Comment