Skyline

Through the echoes of a soft accordion
Playing tremors on a fortnight
Came a rain soaked magician
Pulling rabbits behind curtains
Flying doves out of liquor bottles

While curly cued blonde femmes
Sang ashes ashes in a car ride
Spinning tires against the pavement
Floating stop signs into land mines
They crash into a never ending spin
Up the walls of the city into New Yorks
Dark night

Where a man busking guitars on the corner
Who Rubs violin strings,
sings about the end of time

Reviews

[KAOlmsted]

Okay. The "ashes ashes" is good...know why? Because it's real. Everything else is...well...contrived. Poetry is best when it comes from that black and bloody spot in your heart that you'd really rather just ignore...when poetry comes from that spot...trust me...people pay attention.

Thank you so much for sharing this with us.

-kimmer

[Tasha]

Nice imagery, great write. You have a way with words.