When the world
grows too bright
with clock faces
and bottom lines,
fluorescence
and no shadows,
Poetry closes
in on itself,
tail tucked
over eyes,
waiting
for the world
to turn off those
bright barred lights,
to go back to daylight
moonlight,
table lamp,
candle
so we
can see
again.
-
Follow
Following
Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
Puff Of Smoke Poems 