Posted on 2 Comments

6

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

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

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

evergreen distilled to froth
      or
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
      or
the weather to bring
her back

2 thoughts on “6

  1. that end. whew.

  2. yeah, took my breath.

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