Litkicks Message Board Archive


Posted to Poetry

prior to winter
the bay is primed with rains
flushing out the decay
of rotted leaves

and curiously, there might be white
dustings from storms
holding in their arms
gifts meant for the east

feet are shod with shoes
that once went naked
late into the pumpkin patches
'till November made them modest

the days contract and lie down
becoming corpse-like in evenings
chilled to the touch
and waxy in complexion

but, this year
there may hardly be a pyre
for her majesty of quietus,
the land too warm
for perfect preservation