Night-sky blotch

Outside, the sky is silent,
a pot of freshly spilled ink
the artist flusteredly dabs at his ruined canvas,
leaving a spot of greyish-pale, the moon
 

The Lone Cat

MA

15 years old

More by The Lone Cat

  • exoticism

    grey eyes
    stare, openly
    at the flesh of elephant plums
    raw and hanging, dripping with a sour earthiness
    open your fists, green guava
    soon dropped upon the shore
    of a tall-tiered world, singing of poverty and praises
  • Peach tea

    i hope you can see my future
    in dripping peach tea leaves,
    chemically bloated with sweetener
    until the silver edges and feminine handle are sticky with syrup

    what do the dredges whisper to you, teller?