windmills grind
a breeze into a wisp
as wrung dust, floats
in dust moats of cumulus rust
like the fatigue of a sixth sense
in a world of five comas
and a hunch.
a world of long shadows
with a brief harrumph
of brass
from a blood-yellow sun
and a bruised
lamp.
the catheter of a ******
and a pearl's
edge.
apple on my head
arrow in my mouth...
and a goose egg.
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 10:03 AM UTC
windmills grind
a breeze into a wisp
as wrung dust, floats
in dust moats of cumulus rust
like the fatigue of a sixth sense
in a world of five comas
and a hunch.
a world of long shadows
with a brief harrumph
of brass
from a blood-yellow sun
and a bruised
lamp.
the catheter of a ******
and a pearl's
edge.
apple on my head
arrow in my mouth...
and a goose egg.
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