Friday, August 3, 2007

Spring Blooms


Spring Blooms

Two wounds,
etched by jet-planes,
on the buttery moon.
Signatures and strokes,
on my cascading gloom.
Puny earnestness dies,
beneath the spring blooms.
Were they gladiola?
Shrieking souls,
on cursed celluloid , and
rampaging silhouettes,
spell doom.
I swoon.
You croon.
Did the dog kill the meteor?

3 comments:

little boxes said...

very well written...
goes on to say a thousand words without saying anything...

weevil girl said...

youwritesosoverybeautifullyimafan!

SoUrOdE3P said...

Wow!