Thursday, January 16, 2014

Mooring Room. Roaring Moon.

In Nature,  rarely without submerged shoals,
Underjars of rocks, jetsam of junked tires, rebar threaded concrete chunks-
A rare find, a soft landing, a boat's double lot,
Mooring room.

A night walk,  a couple followed by the better cat,
Flares of brushfire rust-smudging the aura,
What we hear in disagreement,
Roaring moon.

Old worries, new as cornflakes before the milk hits.
Tendrils transparent as last generation pajamas,
The blood clot shorting out regrets, then reason.
Grin! A brain moos.


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