Wednesday, November 5, 2014


Quietly. It slips in the sweat of your shoes,
slips up and down with his eyes,
against the gas pedal, Armageddon,
orange leaves, pomegranate seeds.
Tattered wings.

Hiccups of the heart, trying trying not to blush.
Sequestered, clandestine openings up until
loud enough to be heard, skirling under clouds,
bursting, blistering, purifying.

No comments:

Post a Comment