Sunday, January 13, 2019

A Composition

I sit to compose 

but butter is heavy 

I say, 

snow sounds like 

fizzled love 


luminosity is 

leaking light 

because of wanton love 

I am ruined 


in a blink 

I say, 

Am I feathers?  

Cold and clean 


but uncollected

nothing is lambent 

I say, 

disdaining wayward wings

3 comments:

  1. This is the kind of poetry that I appreciate the most.. and wish I could write as well.. the stream of consciousness given a direction best known to the author, while the reader muses and understands the minds need for segue.

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  2. Stream of consciousness is how it percolates and splashed on the page. Glad you can gather what I spilled

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  3. This poem contains so many sidelong, unexpected--and pleasing--turns of phrase and comparisons. As Kerry says, this is good stuff. Off to read more.

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