we wait (pt. two)
frozen days pass
like
boxcars laden
with
grain
and nights are
cold(er) anyway.
where is retribution? and
where is
singularity (in this mess)?
with whatever for, we
have lost
it all.
all silver.
all lost.
silver all lost.
or is it?
i
think - not.
the last stanza
ReplyDeletei
think - not
is very "eric"
your first stanza:
frozen days pass
like
boxcars laden
with
grain
made me think about a familiar feeling in a new way. which is...exactly what a poem should do.