Every abrasion of
spinners gravitates toward
barn doors in a mausoleum corridor

naming descendants of those
“Taken in ffreemen in this Town”
who married the following year.

They’ve always hoarded offenses
and neglect to ease up
verily, verily –

So we tend weeds, spread mulch,
argue, and I resolve to give you
no more than you give me.

Indoors, outdoors all the same
until dull days rain.
You pluck lilies and laurel from stone rows.

In the morning, we tally symptoms.
You pack for camp. Order train tickets.
Clear out the dripping cellar.

To continue, click here.
Copyright 2015



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 )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ 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 )


Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.