Sunday, November 1, 2009










the moon hung
over a squat building

soon to burst through
tangled power lines

a bright bullet from the muzzle
i could taste

the tension of the wires
the metallic bite

of people on the sidewalks
short fused

their colors on parade
ready to fly

off the handle
into full night

give them each
a drink a song but no

this white moon
will have its dark say

2 comments:

Wildegenes said...

I like this poem and the photos. I am still trying to figure out why.

linda said...

thanks, Annelie!