Posted: October 28, 2011 in Uncategorized



River a quiet of meandering thought

under-tow of insufferable longing

lost in currents of liquid despair

looking for ravines to call home

a corset of ribbon that shall

never be tied

the lick of a deer on the surface


the howl of a lone wolf inside.


Solstice a weather of change

milk the winter for its ghosts

tattoo words upon the air

discover eternal youth

in the stroke of baby’s hair.


Humanity a bundle

of ripe Orange-peel regret

the kind that grows

under artificial light

across war-torn fields

rising through toxic fog

to meet a cloned Sun.


All dance is beautiful,

you know?


Even the Death March

has its purpose.


~ ~

© Copyright 2011 ♥Susan Joyner-Stumpf


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