“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Wednesday, June 17, 2020
Veins
Rivers run
clock-wise
gathered seconds from
Hidden Springs
one way
gaining distance in
Time and Space
accommodates
this swelling of our souls,
after so many miles
consumed and minerals made
we carry all these
these accumulations
around
the middle
counter-clockwise
where all the numbered faces
count
on the moon
to turn cheek
and the Rivers rise
with mouths
full of asteroids.
Painting by Gertrud Staats, dated before 1938 in Public domain.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
White
Unopened mail on the counter, a meal half eaten sits on the table, fork frozen in position of the last bite. A world abandoned mid-sentence,...
-
Natures touch is both gentle and fierce. Homo sapiens trample on her back. The thick skin impossible to pierce. So...
-
A year ago this May, in fact, upon this same very grey day- something came over me I found could say, in no other way but to portray, ...
-
Water Today, warm raindrops glass blurs, the blurry glassy, sharp sparkles sugar. Behind Evening, it was good. Leaves all turned into shadow...

No comments:
Post a Comment