pitch black a hand slips through the veil to find comfort
Tag: fiction
winter at dawn the old crow’s guttural growl
limbs slinking from reaponsibilty possessed by the spirit of the cat
balancing off the edge of the curb hands off me winter winds
as the seasons do the words come and go as they please
take these damp limbs to task winter at dawn
as we embody the very essence of our poetry
after dark we correct the terms of divine domination
the conversation with waves we never seem to win
dead and gone the stares of empty shells as we walk past
elancharan gunasekaran 