Black Falling Rain

The white smoke winding cloth

about her face, pale cerement,

raised off-handed, another

Pall Mall cigarette lit, red pack,

another blood nail painted,

sharp for entry into night, question

and love, a ticking noise, mirror,

mirror, itching at the damp, and scratch

at the cold cellar door,

green moss covered, black like ash,

grayed like dreams, premonitions mixing

memory and desire,

stamped out in an ashtray

counting with lost moments.

2 Comments

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s