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mary-winslowPoems
The bronze-scorched mud knobbed unhinged sculpture grows Cinderella down to root knots, ground is grubbed chapped hats of acorns hit porticoes before snows honeybees cake their hives closed and wax hubbed humiliation hardens as color dapples swelling seed-commas split beneath the frost piety’s ignored until next year’s apples night sky is grape-leafed, blackberry sauced ineffable brutes grow cold to the pinnacle rhetorical dross groundswells legislations the long-legged wind tramples our spectacle rains mock each leaf into pickled munitions rocks are nothing but hermitages sent by the moon prescient hardness sets its chin to the ground hankering for battle, totalitarianism thrives by noon each soldered twig unloomed, unraveled, uncrowned we have severed ties to reason’s substantial contents in the muddle it’s not the empowerment you had democracy dies bewildered blind with miscontents unhinged, unconcerned to find the hanging chad we’re scissored down to our primary chaos all paralogisms who dwell in a dream that justifies our fall.
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Nov 11, 2017
Nov 11, 2017 at 12:15 PM UTC
November
The bronze-scorched mud knobbed unhinged sculpture grows Cinderella down to root knots, ground is grubbed chapped hats of acorns hit porticoes before snows honeybees cake their hives closed and wax hubbed humiliation hardens as color dapples swelling seed-commas split beneath the frost piety’s ignored until next year’s apples night sky is grape-leafed, blackberry sauced ineffable brutes grow cold to the pinnacle rhetorical dross groundswells legislations the long-legged wind tramples our spectacle rains mock each leaf into pickled munitions rocks are nothing but hermitages sent by the moon prescient hardness sets its chin to the ground hankering for battle, totalitarianism thrives by noon each soldered twig unloomed, unraveled, uncrowned we have severed ties to reason’s substantial contents in the muddle it’s not the empowerment you had democracy dies bewildered blind with miscontents unhinged, unconcerned to find the hanging chad we’re scissored down to our primary chaos all paralogisms who dwell in a dream that justifies our fall.
©marywinslow2017
mary-winslow
Written by
mary-winslow
Nov 11, 2017
Nov 11, 2017 at 12:15 PM UTC
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