.
Not compassed
North to South,
I would shed
this skin for wings,
for a thick billed beak
writ small
by sideways rain
and slate grey sky
posted by name of the rose at 5:03 p.m.
soak the edge
The inside of thought is where everything teems and stirs with a thousand cracks is where the water meets the shore like threads pulled taut that soak the edge
1 Comments:
Autumn poetry should always cut diagonally across "grey sky".
And very minimal: and aleatory, the rain.
Post a Comment
<< Home