Through that last thought
I stretch, you pale.
The wind on our face
into the woods go we
The Moon blanks
The Sun blackens
A sun storm, nothing more
that sends compass needles reeling
Saturday, December 6, 2008
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2 comments:
there's so much behind the words in this piece, very intriguing.
I look forward to reading more in the future
Thank you, Juliet, for your observations on the poem Fields on the Mapovia blog. Feel free to publish in your blog any poem of mine you care to. Likewise, feel free to rewrite them if you wish. I see poetry as jazz to be adapted and improvised upon if one is so inspired.
AW
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