Thunder vibrates my window, I sort through poetry books
to respond.
The gravel in my throat tastes like fear regurgitated
from the moon.
It’s hard to write about rainbows when all your ink is
black fading to gray.
Hail stones harass oak leaves until they surrender to the
stone toss.
©Susie Clevenger 2019
Wednesday Muse: American Sentence
Love these, Susie--especially the first two. Ginsberg would like it that you post your AS's on this blog, I think.
ReplyDeleteThird is my favorite - amazing what can be portrayed in 17 syllables!
ReplyDeleteEach one is amazing Susie, I cannot pick a favorite!!
ReplyDeleteWow! Love that second one, Susie!
ReplyDelete