Wednesday, September 9, 2009

moonbrush

blasphemy be my 21st century;
blessings marked by brazen impotency
believing in me, these crumbling trees--
crooked branches crackle-sway, crackle-sway--
bramble blanket whistling wind
cover hover arching over dirt pathways.
gutters lined with empty letters, shifty eyed a summer's fall
inhaling deeply its winter breaths
and memorizing a winter death;
the sun lifts later bound, the clouds curl west, and
mother drops her heavy lids and mutters
prayers for the best.

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