cut-up#3.2014

the sky fades
opaque
to a rarer blue
where winter
has flown buckets over
to shred
every single flower
in the garden
until

inevitably
wearing itself out
and
leaving each
thunderclap
but a pale song
of the last

and where fog
sneaks in
to choke windows
and then naught
but the
smallest yellow glow
from the ocean
remains
stubborn

beautiful

 

 

(This cut-up has been adapted from titles taken from my last twenty or so poems)

2 thoughts on “cut-up#3.2014

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