Poetry – Page 5 – Skeleton At The Feast

Writer’s Concentration

Of course I’m writing. What else would it be?

Seriously, why?

Peach tree seasons, time run soft.

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

Cocoon – for what I cannot say.

ALAS! *sips coffee*

When words and world well up, dark as silt…

Let me imagine the world undone, just a glimpse.

As it roars, call it a tiger.

I woke up at 3 a.m. from a restless dream of trying to remember where I’d stored my childhood Easter decorations.