Wednesday 27 November 2019

Balance is an afterthought

Tempest nature of these shadows
Temptresses her way into the yin
Grey suits with gold bows,
My temp dresses.
The world passes her,
On a wallowing wheelchair
Turning open paved paths,
Into impasses.
Hassles of a quiet mind,
Frequent floods and draughts,
Yank its way from latter letter,
Features of a watering hole.
Shallow afternoons of this wintery weather,
Hanging my coats and hat to a little too left,
Balance is an afterthought.


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