flowerfield

by grimbeau

Chainsmoking cheroots

Looking down the gunbarrel

Maybe she wrote me that letter

I will never know

& if I did what difference

Would it make these days?

~

I will never know about

That either I suppose

so imponderables go

~

Image you crouched over

 See you fret hard over every

word until beaten brow snaps

~

furrow yields up  fears

beads come tumbling down

petrify snap splinter speck

~

pulver turn to dust

much as chimney sweeps

or this dry pressed iris

 

 

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