Sunday, November 13, 2011

o24



over the blacktop beyond the open cleft
a conduit for dereliction
here's a sight
a dreamer's knapsack
a treasure in itself of iron nails
waylaid and tossed left bereft
like aching boulders abandoned
in a jumble, future uncertain
for the mothers cut and run
dropping babies in a pudding haste.
Rust rust, and the certain dust

2 comments:

  1. tom, it is the last line that delivers for me. plus, i am rather partial to your invention of pudding haste. that is fun writing, despite the dereliction and certain transient doom.

    xo
    erin

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  2. fun is good. finding this old wreck was a boon for me...love old decrepit things. who doesn't?

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