where is spring (Remove filter)
the small american mammal lied
the coldest nights are the quietest
though the litter chatters around my feet
like the arctic teeth of an almost corpse
and the gas settles close to home
glassy in it’s welcome
the trees, taut, still brittle of bone,
clench every desperate sinew
as fleshless fingers on a wintered birch
gnarl a carpal tunnel to the council’s moon
Saturday 30th March 2013 4:31 pm
Recent Comments
David RL Moore on Stolen dog
36 minutes ago
Martin Peacock on Go Live Day
40 minutes ago
Martin Peacock on BEACHHEAD - JUNE 6, 1944
46 minutes ago
Martin Peacock on Monsters don’t exist
56 minutes ago
Martin Peacock on The Descent November 1996
1 hour ago
Martin Peacock on Life ‘n’ God ‘n’ Death ‘n’ Stuff
1 hour ago
Martin Peacock on Family
1 hour ago
Larisa Rzhepishevska on My Friend Maxim
4 hours ago
keith jeffries on Monsters don’t exist
8 hours ago
keith jeffries on The Descent November 1996
9 hours ago