Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
.raining.

they forecast it,
we do not listen any more,
just check the window.
the roads here are winding, the leaves are changing.
best not to bang the teapot down on serving, best
to tell the truth.
dreamed of devastation,           flew miles        low
over concrete .   skeletons,      bones of the thing.
all is dust, as dust we have become.                 slow.
grey.
so in the mist of memory my 15 minutes passed  without concentration and went indoors after
one way,
and  another.

up poole hill
or down.

you kissed me.
i have the same,
usually, i felt like
a change today.
tidy beach
soft sand and honest stones
to be fortunate here
Next page