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3 a.m., 73 degrees
| Open Poetry #1 |
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3 a.m., 73 degrees |
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grandiloquent Member
since 1999-07-08
Posts 104Midwest America |
3 a.m., 73 degrees. Driving home Too tired to not giggle over anything, Watching the river reflect bits of highway lights and stars and living room lamps The grass bank fuzzy and black bending straightaway toward the tiny airport, I wonder how many evils drifted in and out of minds tonight, How many cherries have been popped, How many eyes sliding under their lids Jerking with dreams Heavy and heavier like the air Rushing over my hand-held wing span Turn my palm concave and it yanks upward I close my eyes and fly, fly . . . |
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