Poetry – Page 7 – Skeleton At The Feast

Vanishing Point

Expanse like the generous horizon, spring of miles and space…

Let us be as time of rest, time of day when sleep is at hand.

If I mapped the places, would I understand?

Lament for a senior thesis. Need I say more?

Learn to say the truth of a thing – that is all.

“That liquefaction of her clothes” – a different understanding of a poem I’ve always loved.

Yes, I still have pumpkins from Halloween. Yes, they’re still good (I hope).

Seriously, why?

Peach tree seasons, time run soft.

Today is Earth Day? I don’t understand – and neither do you.