Posted on 2 Comments


Adorn, I am a bitter tear
caught in a dotted glass tonight
a lark of flotsam

I glom all sleep
grow tacky as pine tar
blear, I hear you

I do fret with every finger
reach for blown registers
I’m no twist of lemon

evergreen distilled to froth
three drops of vanilla 
set to harden on the snow 

I don’t possess
the big stainless bowl
the worn wood spoon to drum it
the weather to bring
her back

2 thoughts on “6

  1. that end. whew.

  2. yeah, took my breath.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *