by Anna Louise!
a small puddle
underneath the shadowy
palm of an oak tree

a single-colored disarray
of thistles that gently lay
on top one another

it’s autumn now
let me color the inside of your lids
with the horizon of sunrise
mirroring over a pond, so placid

the shrieking sensation
of turning wheels
head collision and crash--

into a traumatic occasion

everything bleach-black
dislocating the places of every
thing a stark, desolate image sparked
by only a voice that sings inside

a whisper heard
only when silence sinks like a ship
that we realize,
“this is where we’ve placed the bottom!”
once we’ve let the anchor slip.
Posted by: Anna Louise!

Poetry (January 11th, 2009)