My wit was stolen
in the shattered morning --
darkness robbed me of meaning
with its long, empty knives.
I search my pockets
for its incandessence,
turning out only absence
and a deep crushing sigh.
In the distance I see
others laughing, tossing
wit back and forth
like a shuttle **** at a garden party
sparkling, forceful, levity, bright.
I brush myself off
and walk towards them.
Dec 8, 2011
Dec 8, 2011 at 11:45 AM UTC
The winds howl through the valley
galloping across the fields
gusting into town
knocking down garbage cans
rattling grain silos
shoving highway traffic
stealing people’s hats
blasting tractors
slapping around limbs and branches
knocking live powerlines to the cold winter ground
interrogating clattering palm trees
threatening creaking, aged oaks
They’re just outside the door, now
whispering, moaning, vehement, loud.
Dec 6, 2011
Dec 6, 2011 at 11:55 AM UTC
All these grand metaphors
build a distance
from the world.
Dec 6, 2011
Dec 6, 2011 at 11:45 AM UTC