Iguanas fall from palm trees.
Whales die, descend to ocean bed.
Buildings say goodbye, collapse.
Flowers wilt and trees lose leaves.
Jets nosedive to crash or splash.
Words clunk, embarrassed, on angry ears.
Silence slides to bitter end.
Breasts and butts bow low to gravity.
The universe must have a hole
where everything that’s fallen goes
to be recycled, then tossed up,
to start the journey down again.
published in Spread Issue 96 March 2024, republished in Scuzzbucket
Hozzászólások