Clave

Space opening a flowering void expands
The Moon like an eye of evil blinks
When nothing is, as anyone thinks
Faces closing overpowering out of hands

Pale fingers brushed by fate
Wave in underwater slow ballets
Sleep nearby rather late
Dreams, surgical instruments in trays



Poetry by Chaucer Whethers
Read 285 times
Written on 2021-11-17 at 07:03

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