poem by Gerard Flynn

mine is the morning of roomof open bees and clouds coming in the window and leaving more lies on the floor dust particles of cosmogenic stupidity. climbing through my mind combing the tears in the rips for maybe something will come together in the bliss. But this is now and the anchors of hearts touching and the hopes for heaven but stealing looks at the ceiling and the dust around the bulb not working.

Chavisa WoodsTribes