h-thayer - Hello Poetry

this summer feels more like autumn when life cringes from sweeping gusts of winter winds and broken promises when blades of grass no longer need be cut down but wilt of their own accord this summer feels like falling during a dream and waking up before hitting the ground this summer feels like a final chapter but life will not give me the satisfaction of neat bookends or denouement before crashing into finality this summer feels like a sentence fragment i figure my leaving a hyphen punctuating the end of everything.

0

Jul 20, 2013

Jul 20, 2013 at 11:07 PM UTC

h-thayer

-

this summer feels more like autumn when life cringes from sweeping gusts of winter winds and broken promises when blades of grass no longer need be cut down but wilt of their own accord this summer feels like falling during a dream and waking up before hitting the ground this summer feels like a final chapter but life will not give me the satisfaction of neat bookends or denouement before crashing into finality this summer feels like a sentence fragment i figure my leaving a hyphen punctuating the end of everything.

20

And the moon seeps through the runs in my stockings, Snow melts off ruddy cheeks and boils to the atmosphere Patchwork skies and yellow air. We threw snow behind our shoulders for lack of any salt Steeped, stewed and warded off our demons, Invoking the wrath of the wandering cars And the moon seeps through the runs in my stockings. A lonesome traffic light directs the phantom engines The dewy skylights have yet been good to me A fog of breaths entwined lift up to the patchwork skies and yellow air. As our tinny music on cell phones dampened the stillness The lamps shone out to nobody still Loud, jarring, paling the night sky’s starlight, And the moon that seeps through the runs in my stockings Our riotous whisperings Were but cracks in the ice Our cigarettes were torches held against the patchwork skies and yellow air This city is a tyrant Its icy stillness grasping through my clothes The stillness sears my inhibitions, the moon seeps through the runs in my stockings We fell into the yellow cab Made inert by our indiscretions, plagued By the moon that seeped into the runs in my stockings, The rosy skies and clearing air.

0

Jul 20, 2013

Jul 20, 2013 at 10:36 PM UTC

h-thayer

incessancy

And the moon seeps through the runs in my stockings, Snow melts off ruddy cheeks and boils to the atmosphere Patchwork skies and yellow air. We threw snow behind our shoulders for lack of any salt Steeped, stewed and warded off our demons, Invoking the wrath of the wandering cars And the moon seeps through the runs in my stockings. A lonesome traffic light directs the phantom engines The dewy skylights have yet been good to me A fog of breaths entwined lift up to the patchwork skies and yellow air. As our tinny music on cell phones dampened the stillness The lamps shone out to nobody still Loud, jarring, paling the night sky’s starlight, And the moon that seeps through the runs in my stockings Our riotous whisperings Were but cracks in the ice Our cigarettes were torches held against the patchwork skies and yellow air This city is a tyrant Its icy stillness grasping through my clothes The stillness sears my inhibitions, the moon seeps through the runs in my stockings We fell into the yellow cab Made inert by our indiscretions, plagued By the moon that seeped into the runs in my stockings, The rosy skies and clearing air.

27

skyscrapers are metal and glass melted sand and twisted earth what are skyscrapers but mangled mountains and burnt beaches

0

Jul 20, 2013

Jul 20, 2013 at 10:34 PM UTC

h-thayer

sea to sky

skyscrapers are metal and glass melted sand and twisted earth what are skyscrapers but mangled mountains and burnt beaches

6