Sunday, March 30, 2014

Rain Turns (Poem 364)

The way soft streets 
break, tarmac murmurs,
and crooked brick paths
carry promises, the clouds
grow heavy, sagging 
with their jade burden.
A white piano catches, 
hums with flames, burning 
gazelle stupidity the way 
cities burn smooth kids.
Tepid rain turns, spits, 
purring smoke, 
admits nothing not proven 
by kiosks while neighbors
sleep, cats charm 
doorways, and sighs wander,
carrying blossoms to heaven, 
even as Hades stirs.

(c) 2014, by Hannah Six

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