Night
Sedimentary sighs of still water
roll the soft hills of plenty,
but I, in my own fashion, delete
the coming with waves.
It was just like that
when suddenly soft fur,
black, long and soft,
poked at my ankle.
Night is a harsh mistress
when all is misplaced
and I is only I.
Poetry by Bob
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Written on 2008-08-24 at 02:48
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Nyorioko |
Peter J. Kautsky |
Editorial Team |
Texts |
by Bob Latest textsI seldom walkthere’s a rumor there will be no full stop so many regrets who am I |
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