evening looms like
our angry impression,
dead grass from morning
sees no blossom;
a monument to
summer smoke.
My site has changed!
12 years ago
About Me
- Liz Fairchild
- I write a poem to forget that my story is half-told and will always be half-told until I die and it is not told at all. All poets wish to be prophets, foretelling moments of non-existence, sculpting the half-story into a satisfying lump,"To have squeezed the universe into a ball To roll it toward some overwhelming question..."
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