This morning the yawning sky was witnessed,
a puddle of orange juice seeping upward
into the fabric of frigid black night,
through a dirt-seamed windshield.
2:
11 am's dusty blue sky is blind to the building slicing
Glory with a rust red razor edge,
to the puncture
of a cell phone tower,
radiating the scene.
3:
Our smoldering star ticks
off celestial bliss,
with a long low sigh
that steams each window sill
and fries the laundry hanging to dry.
4:
Tonight the crooning sky will be haled--
a Hallelujah chorus of lights
hung on a deep blue scale --
through the crooked bars of plastic blinds.
1 comment:
Our smoldering star ticks
off celestial bliss
ticks like a clock!...I think it's especially neat because the sun is basically our clock but it certainly ticks me off when the day is almost over. great poem dude.
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