Wednesday, November 09, 2011

iPad note poem number 9: Arab spring

iPad note poem number 9: Arab spring

The city turned cold
Men and women have found
Their lost coats
Hiding from the wind
In spidered closets

"God damn, it is cold,"
They say stamping booted feet
And clapping mittened hands
"Think it will snow?"
There is no appropriate
Response so they ask
Again, breath wafting
From their mouth like the
Demon seed of hope
Floating higher and higher
Above the city where
Finally, it crystallizes
And falls too gently
On the oil slick

Sent from my iPad

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