- Non-Erotic Poetry
- the cruelest month?
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Click heremy endorphins lapped up my seratonins,
while watching black ducks fly
low across the river,
log driver's island
creosoted
and rail road tied,
outlasting old timers, still the
ice flow again is yearly slowing, water high and moving swept away fast-
and here we are in Elliot's month.
no more snowblanket
no more willowhip northwind dance,
no more sleeping seeds.
ground softens underfoot,
mudseason on gravel roads, lucky for him you had that chain.
and the wild Rugosa roses
sneak out of cedar groves,
where the rainwater goes just where it did last year.
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- COMMENTS
that seemed out of place with your first line. Everything else fit the landscape, while the first line felt so clinical. I think if you aligned that line with the rest of your imagery it would work better. You'll want to check the spelling on Eliot... Some beautiful imagery here.
jim : )