Butterflys
Fair words ricochet
off skeletal trees. The mango will shed
it's coat to radiate a brighter yellow sun,
and the hazy-eye sky
imitates the elegance
of London's smog head cold,
blinding the gray levitating
on streets and clogging
ordinary judgments. Un-keen
and displaced, the belly flutters
from a glance: a head full of orchids
and daily chore that brushes off
as whimsy, as does natural sorrow.
Poetry by Christin Brennan
Read 1006 times
Written on 2007-10-13 at 23:21
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