Monday, October 29, 2018

James Walton #126 woof woof woof



at 3am dogs bark
for the bone of moon

words spinning
jacks out of the boxes

that coil beneath the bony lid

of the sleepless too
reach out
you can touch them

some are untied knots
daisy chains of Mondays

so wide that bitter swell
the surprising taste
of second street laneways

kitchens light awake
but no doors open

to the moth of sentence
a batter of intrusion
the slipped anchor scrapes

there was a dancing pony
one made of naphthalene
a cajole of wakefulness

one last wear
a lover’s parting gift

the last cold night of Spring









5 comments:

  1. just trying to remember
    where did we bury that moon

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. deep, in the heart of darkness
      or was it Texas?

      Delete

  2. beautiful
    second line
    all of it
    a New Orleans
    parade

    ReplyDelete
  3. The bone of
    moon keeps nourished
    the star gazers
    and lunartics

    ReplyDelete
  4. love that naphthalene pony, and the rest

    ReplyDelete

Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.