MY BRIGHT WHITE MORNING
It seemed as if every tree was upside down:
reflecting a new sunlight somewhere. The angles,
the tone of each thing I saw, seemed different.
Holocaust charnel. Workmen smoking yellow
cigarettes, standing around, butts in their
mouths, contorted with laughter under
brand new skies. Someone kept a
tractor so sadly under control,
digging the earth for all it
was worth.
It seemed as if every tree was upside down:
reflecting a new sunlight somewhere. The angles,
the tone of each thing I saw, seemed different.
Holocaust charnel. Workmen smoking yellow
cigarettes, standing around, butts in their
mouths, contorted with laughter under
brand new skies. Someone kept a
tractor so sadly under control,
digging the earth for all it
was worth.
No comments:
Post a Comment