Litkicks Message Board Archive

tragic how

Posted to Action Poetry




once the plummeting golden glint
by drowning hand, receives its clasp,
the ineffable muse that reigns the tides
must go the way of moody sleep
grounded by the gravity of mass
where heavenly bodies tilt around
orbits of inevitable;
stay the morning light upon the glass
ask it not to circle 'bout your wrist
in too heavy a fashionable charm
of tarnished permanence


good to see you again, earth...
missed your breath