Wednesday, 20 January 2010


conquering the gates was a bustop.
crinkling the bridge of his Germany
a country regenerating off a small downy feather.
Joseph could not be expected to the gulp
attempts to scale it that remember everything.
French windows and into the glare
died Fine Art in Berlin.

Joseph had a flowerbed on a windowsill
head of an elegant carnation, Joseph,
atom; the stamen, circled with bees
here in this garden looking deep into the
the old physicist, sees the flower as an
unlike the autumns from Joseph's
piles of rotting leaves. Now, though,
breeze. the garden was so alive, so
childhood where summer lay dying in

1 comment:

  1. Hi friend.... this was a very creative post, good imagery, popped over from Gerrys blog to perhaps meet new poets, and glad I did :)