Poetry – Page 4 – Skeleton At The Feast

In The End –

In the end, it was backwards all along.

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

If I can say less – why fight it?

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.

Healthy eating never seemed so…deep.

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