Lyndon

tears well
buckets descend
dreams walk the bridge
between psyche and sunrise

I am tired of the surface
the mundane, the conveyer belt of routine
to do, to do, to do
check, check, check

fashion me a bucket
slip me into a spate of tears
drop me below night’s horizon
into the star-studded…

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Photo by Scott Carroll on Unsplash

It was spoken
in the angle
of the fawn’s cracked neck
twisting toward flank.

It was whispered
in death’s blinding act
the unseeing eye,
all life’s promise broken
in a flash of steel
headlights and flesh
meeting.

It was echoed
in the brown and white-spotted husk
crumpled on the roadside

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sunset’s end, photo by Lyndon

Watch the life cycle
repeat repeat repeat
as another sunset cracks open:
hot sun on western blue,
descending into a river of colors
that soaks clouds, gilds peaks,
all radiant glory to dimming drop.

Finally the last smudge
of deep rose fades to charcoal
on this autumnal night,
a scent of apples
lacing the…

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