Thursday, May 19, 2005

Dusky evening
8 p.m.

Off to the east, the most misshapen rainbow
I've ever seen

Bolts of MonDak sun
On a fresh poplar

Above the tree,
that yellow bird!


Chris Sand said...

I'm the worst poet ever.

Chris Sand said...

This is what it's come to--I'm writing comments to myself like a schizo.

Oh, how much I desire to add a final line to this poem.

After "...yellow bird" I would write: God's gay friend.

But, no! Irony must be tamed for at least a day.