A poem a night

The weather is mild winter on its way to meet summer. Two girls are doing their clockwise rounds ,their pigtails dingdong on blouse backs. Old film songs are waking pant pockets.

This morning we read Ashbery. From all corners come distinctive offerings. From old men’s chairs, going and gone. From the mountains sitting on horizons. From the corners of balconies with their clothes dripping.

There are corners to our throats. Their poems go on . A daily poem from a night’s stack. Till none is left in the pile.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s