Thursday, January 29, 2009

a season of drought

let us pray this brief sleep is a ceasing to be-

ossified in the great depression of the mattress,
we creep in stony silence towards the false grope:

a fossil of a wedding preserved in midnight oil,

a chance at a gift of silver
in a instant turned
into a black and bleak palaver:

paper leaves that are torn but still not tarnished.

1 comment:

  1. I love how you make me think. I love how I have to look some words up in the dictionary. I love how say something so simple in such an interesting way.