Sending poetry to the world
all vapor and vinegar, we,
insistent and cold, tug like a child
at your sweater –
you feel us when your skin crawls
and bubbles over
and when you look down,
as the Shenandoah burns,
you get a small taste of our view.
today, the cemeteries dress formal,
give a hand
as to one stepping
out from a carriage,
and wait.
when leaves die
undignified on the lawn,
winds howl laments
that curl the building
in a straightjacket
when the halls empty
of sound, those kids
off in costume to party
in blissful ignorance
when the moon shrouds
itself with funeral gauze and lace
she paces the halls
without footsteps
she moans
the eternal attire of a noose
its comforting burn
and the swing swing
of mortal troubles living with
damning persistence.
Press Send Poetry 