Winter has distinct
notions,
sits beyond the white
rocks shielding us,
eyeing each
wasp and sparkle,
and waiting to push
its grey legs
into the surf.
It knows
whatever sweetness
pours will
spoil and waves
are just the sound
of time breaking
us down
forever.
I too know
there is nothing
to worry about
so worry
about nothing, the colours
of things and smooth
tongues whispering
beneath the
house.
GJ Hart currently lives in London and has had pieces published in The Molotov Cocktail, The Jersey Devil Press, the Harpoon Review and others. He can be found arguing with himself over @gj_hart.
No comments:
Post a Comment