revive his senses
settled
into a bend of cloth,
How we've burned,
forgotten our mothers -
irritates inside me
dainty and crowded,
Names lingered into poetry-
Lorenz,
framed and unspoken,
spaces awaited your colors
how is it done...
quiet
calm
if the whole thing...
could seemly be ashed
should we choose to sit against god,
wrestle the air into motion with your vocals,
smooth chills
turning curling vapors,
cast iron and wood
waken a Smile no length on end
from my pourch.

09/01/2002

Posted on 09/01/2002
Copyright © 2024 Scott Cadence