Mirrors and crosses
illuminated fragments of fall
in the tired turned off streetlights gold
I don’t see the sigma signal in the grass anymore
walk through the picked apart leaves and the voice of November must be hoarse and
coarse and crying
for the cold
The bulbs sprout prematurely and now its spring
but not spring
There’s no room for growth
in this stagnant status quo
that coughs on sleepily
and cries for snow
illuminated fragments of fall
in the tired turned off streetlights gold
I don’t see the sigma signal in the grass anymore
walk through the picked apart leaves and the voice of November must be hoarse and
coarse and crying
for the cold
The bulbs sprout prematurely and now its spring
but not spring
There’s no room for growth
in this stagnant status quo
that coughs on sleepily
and cries for snow
posted by read | 12:06 AM
1 Comments:
Wow, a poem within a poem:
The bulbs sprout prematurely and now its spring
but not spring
There’s no room for growth
in this stagnant status quo
that coughs on sleepily
and cries for snow
Your rhyming kicks, here. I'm with you, where's winter?
Hope to see your manuscript soon.
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