The Nail

Into days I thought
Would never come again
Through the stone gate
Where the black thread lies
Where the old tongue lives
Deep in the socket
Of one closed eye.
I am on a road
Which only I can determine
Dragging the yellow kite
That Icarus for winged purpose
Tore, searching for the nail
That once upheld the sky.

 
0
Kudos
 
0
Kudos

Now read this

Sonnet in which Angels Do Not Age, Neither Do Clouds

A folk tale of rook-pecked corpses and rusty bicycles For which the pink elastic strings of the fable’s bikini Has been washed too many times Like laying A flaming palm branch of donkey shit at your door After S– stood you up twice for... Continue →