Before the ChristeningI can’t help but feel these days that more than summer is declining. There’s a wicked wind blowing out there. It calls itself anything but what it is: raw and blasphemous power.
Rain has made the waterfront a new
creation in its saturated image.
Sunshine sneaks a weathered look between
the disappearing clouds and calls it good.
Boats in the harbor speak their minds in testament
truths that Adam painted on their sterns:
Summer Breeze; Blew By You; Overdraft.
It’s August, such a royal month for late
vacationers who disregard the waning
days of empire drunk with cricket song,
hung over, looking decadently famous.
By the dockside more than ninety feet
of fiberglass obscenity is
waking to the derelict—Breaking Wind.
A DIFFERENT FOURTH OF JULY
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I have looked for a suitable poem for the 4th of July this year. I examined
several old examples. All the while, however, there was a very unpleasant
feeli...
1 day ago
2 comments:
oh that made me cold! goosebumps and everything.
I love goosebumps; they're so fizzy.
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