3pm
is either too late
or too early
for poetry.
sometime
around
four
or five
in the morning
the air is clear
and the
sky
is ablaze,
birthing day
into
the world,
and life
is just
waking
up,
and out here,
in the prairies
the whole process
is replayed backward,
sometime
around 1030 or so
at night,
as the world
sequesters itself
into a dark
and quiet
little place,
and turns
the madness
that exists between
these two
moments
into a peaceful
slumber.
and these moments
are
rare times
indeed,
to be enjoyed
by those
who make themselves
available
to them.
but,
i am active
at around
3pm
these days,
and
3pm
is either
too late
or too early
for poetry.
YOU ARE READING
Melancholia
Poetrypoetry takes us to so many places, and we take poetry to so many places. here are poems about places, and sometimes the people found in them.
