A heavy stone skimming across a mill-pond.
The sound of half a duck quacking.
Sunday, January 12, 2014
Fireworks
My retinas have that full-sun bleach
Light's ghosts haunting every blink
I hope I won't remember you wrong
Always
Red fire in blues and greens
A sky rocket reaching for the moon with screaming hands
Dying brighter than it ever lived.
No comments:
Post a Comment