Saturday, January 9, 2016


who am I to know this writing for?

a waves its blackened screech

palms at the heels as wings go

frozen in an instance of falling

on the page to feed upon its ink

readings taken and made

pattern of consumption its own

mess the text suggests what’s left

potential for additional subtractions

not the story of a bird but its form

a cold grey windowlessness

a condition an atmosphere

measures paced with fence posts

barbs notes to sing along with

the sun in love our bouncing ball

automotive hymn book shifts

a choir wakes to its refrain

who am I to know this singing for?

if not to keep this bird aloft

my hands below the landscaped page

No comments:

Post a Comment