The coming of a that
to dismantle the comb,
unstilling trees under tracer bullets
swaying in embrace
for moonmilk.
The unzipped planktons in sea
open their mouth to supermoon for a night dive
in a green passion. Does it
need a scrutiny? Why a love song
has tarnished the icy mounds?
The venom
of hissing light on a sleeping bay
has erased the aging lines of art
and face was becoming a terror.
There will be no mercy now
for survivors.
Dear readers, this is my third book of poems, and inside are a special collection of what have turned out to be not only MY personal favorites, but also the favorites of many of YOU. Some of these have never been available in print before...
This book represents a thirty-day period of my poetry journal. Each poem addresses
the dominant thoughts occupying my mind during the early morning hours of a given
day.
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Ron