by E.G. Cunningham
End of the year gray. Anchors
Where balloons should be, or:
Could peace wait on the outer
Bank of sane. How in the holiday
Buzz to say nothing for clear, that is:
Give me back remembering,
Its attendant costumed sting.
The portraiture made overkill
By rain. No incoming. The quantum
State the same. The slide to black,
The self-quilled quell to love
The heartburn sun, its citrus sky.