“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Showing posts with label ablush. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ablush. Show all posts
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:
Posts (Atom)
And then...
Change is like that strong smell of cut grass or chopped wood that stops you still. Patterns, a symbol can be an illegible sign, at first...
-
1. Of my Soul a street is: Preternatural Pic- abian tricktrickclickflidk-er garner of starfish Picasso...
-
Today seems like a good day to burn a bridge or two. The sky resembles a backlit canopy with holes punched in it. In California...
-
This world is not for breath for feelings also come and go. As hard and light as Push and pull Go. Busy hands and bees-electricity, alter...