Wednesday, May 10, 2017

SONATA FOR A RECORDER

It's been
out now

for hours
in the clamoring wind

and
formidable rain—

bumbling,
sponge-wet,

wind-wracked, and
scraping against

the raw, fetid
basin-bottom

of its brain;
wondering—how!

aren't those scraggly
little lambasted

lilac flowers
as disconsolate?

Why? aren't those
spindly stalks

of tulips—more
afraid!

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