“The storm doth walk the seashore humming a mournful tune”
– Emily Dickinson
darkening shadow
sits high on misting pane
his beckoning words thrumming on taut string
the tapping syllables within the tin can tring
– Emily Dickinson
darkening shadow
sits high on misting pane
his beckoning words thrumming on taut string
the tapping syllables within the tin can tring
lazy fingers soothe
a bitten round
on silken shoulder
its swell still ripe
from being plundered
among
pitted sands,
petals, dewy-sliced
lay pierced remains
of the thieving drunk
pitted sands,
petals, dewy-sliced
lay pierced remains
of the thieving drunk
shelter hides
the sopping invitation
muting the call of lowing reverberations
eying bait dry asunder
lightning flailed
still unheeded thunder
he will await
to finally reach up and
evaporate
intotheindigo 