fooled again . . .

the sun

has fallen asleep,

the horizon,

is a headstone

for no more

conversation.

 

the dark,

springs outward,

from blue veins

of the heart,

bleeding stiffness

into bones.

 

the old dog

is ok staying in,

protecting

from the window,

affirming her notion,

of winter.

 

the sins

of the season,

drift as the sonoran,

handicapped

with compassion,

and nicotine love.

 

the olive skin,

with teflon wings,

a poem of chance

for the unexpecting

eye.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s