Sunday, 24 January 2016

sundried canopy

black bird in a night
sunrisen cloud; i see clearer
now that you are free. misspelled
contours of space and brick eyes
elevated our calligraphy hearts into
the knowing of grey scaled skies.
i am reminded to stay still and 
breathe slow towards you;
you, my magical utopia, you,
my sundried canopy.


this will be my last poem

so that i remember. because before melted steel, there was hand-made, better, buttered words. we can decide if new spaces beneath me can qui...