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by Matthew Zangen

Love, you are a feckless slope,
an inertial slip of days
swinging praise into picture frames,
taking turns tallied in time remembered
only in passing throes;

you are a magpie on a muddy grave
plucking blame from confessions,
singing songs of rain in vain processions,
asking if it's okay to be brave.


Posted on 05/12/2018
Copyright © 2020 Matthew Zangen

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Rob Littler on 06/08/18 at 07:18 AM

Let me guess... the slope is declining, like all good enablers.

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