D

Dead raccoons will
never gather on my patch of lawn,
lighthearted and easygoing. Perhaps it’s Sunday
and flies are the same color as skies.
Monuments to famous frogs crumble under the snow.
Time to pick up the shreds of disoriented souls
before they unlearn to kiss.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s