leiphos
Bluelighter
- Joined
- May 8, 2008
- Messages
- 1,147
The wind freezes.
My boots surrender
to snow. The sun
performs its dull
hackneyed trick,
its vanishing act.
The moon closes its eye.
Now the night will not stop
so I beat the trees
with books. I strangle
a streetlamp until
it confesses black.
I threaten the sun back
over the sharp horizon.
The birds open their eyes
and scream.
My boots surrender
to snow. The sun
performs its dull
hackneyed trick,
its vanishing act.
The moon closes its eye.
Now the night will not stop
so I beat the trees
with books. I strangle
a streetlamp until
it confesses black.
I threaten the sun back
over the sharp horizon.
The birds open their eyes
and scream.
