Don't Look
The sky a glaucous eye, enveloped
in a razor-sleeve wind raking
through my shirt. I stumble down
brownstones, hearing the voice
of a bird, a yellow bird an azure
tree against the clouds and bruises and I
am trying, really I am.
in a razor-sleeve wind raking
through my shirt. I stumble down
brownstones, hearing the voice
of a bird, a yellow bird an azure
tree against the clouds and bruises and I
am trying, really I am.
posted by Leigh Suter at 5:03 PM
1 Comments:
Am I wrong, or has that poem seen revision since you last showed it to me? It seems to have changed for the better.
Post a Comment
<< Home