The void is leeched

The void is leeched onto my platter of to-dos and not-to-dos
The list of haplessness grazes against the pitter-patter of evening rain
Where crows will raze their voices silent and bluster of noon
Mingles with the earthworm sighing its daily bread: dirt doing its rounds.

Have grits of hope for breakfast, make a sign of crucifixion for peace when
The neighbor fails to greet you with heavy heart and tin smile. Break bread
Again like the earthworm does. And have grits of hope for breakfast, heave
The elements together into a whole pitter-pattered onto a pastiche (pastiche?!!)

Look ahead then as gray clouds part to reveal a tempestuous sun now
Tired of bringing light, tired of being the beacon for eons. Someone else take
Up the lantern, it moans, the earthworm perhaps? Doing its earthly rounds
Sighing its daily bread away in grits of hope, giving the tired sun a break for now.

This entry was posted in Poetry.

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