Thursday, 26 September 2013

Pot Black

Ghosts and owls reveal themselves
their hoots, wails in the shimmer
shadow of leaves as the old dear
lies in a lightless room, watching
the rolling of monochrome spheres
gilded with dazzling silver crescents
as vampiric whey-faced waistcoated
men sip amber in a smoking smoulder.

2 comments:

  1. mysterious atmosphere up there in the northern regions of shadows

    ReplyDelete
  2. It gets stranger every day. Thanks Susan.

    ReplyDelete

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