read
write
members
about
account

 

datedatememberrandomsearch

February 26, 2016
I am borrowing
From coronerís reach
Against the solid lean of time.
The snow reaches over my head
The dark peace comforts me and
My broken mind can rest here a moment
Before moving my feet against the slush and crust.
The lines are moving farther out with each pass
And I think I should guard against such
Tendencies.
We craft forlorn sentences when nothing else
Will do.
Will do without.
Will do within.
Where will all this carry you?
When will you cry out?
Isnít it like trying to read the Bible?
Isnít it like crying out to God?