18 July 2014
Sonnet
the embrace of rain the cold pebbles exploding on my degarnished pate the embrace of wet grass a flash and rumble soaked unpatterned pattering undisciplined splats hollowed by raw breezes the trees never asked your permission what became of the sky its vagueness as extracted from the smoke of
prayers the bobbing of an orange umbrella skittering along the road
like a stray dog what has become of emptiness ski poles’ holes
in the sand equate lions of ash splashes the whistle of a wheel forced to scrape out its rubber and empty existence
white dust blown onto the surface of the lake again with the paper rustling in the junior high mimeograph angry crinkling against
the machine of momentum an electronic birdsong but the perpetual unrhythmic
rhythm, “Why do you have to yell at me like I’m an idiot?”
pattering grows more random taken over by the
regular tap of a clock above like an encaged angel tapping on the glass to
get attention and hopefully be released
08 July 2013
28 February 2013
02 January 2013
30 December 2012
It would never be missed
It would never be missed
the hurried taste of captioned souls
of children leaping and curling
bodies like shiny springs
in rows, waiting to be chosen
-Otis Bardwell 2012
28 August 2012
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