the air is sticky
as a licked stamp clouds
the color of wartime mud
water falls over slickend stone
into a pool of yellow pock marked
leaves and bits of twig, nature’s
face is sobersided
the air is sticky
as a licked stamp clouds
the color of wartime mud
water falls over slickend stone
into a pool of yellow pock marked
leaves and bits of twig, nature’s
face is sobersided
soersided…what a word…i need to think on that one…ha…makes for a cool close…very visual poem but also the descriptives you use make it felt…the wartime mud…for instance…
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Thanks, Brian. Sobersided is a new word to me so I just had to use it!
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