the wistful in my bones,
the coming pixelated blue―
write
mindless, solid,
insouciant,
as if it were the ache
of
a passing storm.
I
shake my umbrella―
thank,
kiss, and love unrequited,
like
a dog wet from rain.
Strangely
compelled to tidy affairs―
ignore
the exaggerated
details
of hell.
tk/June 2013
Thanks to the talented R.A.D. Stainforth for reading this poem.
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| image by Musin Yohan |
