The clocks go back
it is dark outside,the runny-egg moon
glows yellow behind
a watery cloud
and the wind frisks
my vine-bent body
for evidence of joy,
what joy, i ask
the moon, secure
in its ancient grin,
the moon winks
and mouths something
that i cannot make out,
like a clock with 13
numerals
Poetry by Christopher Fernie
Read 209 times
Written on 2020-10-24 at 23:23
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