Harold and the Purple Crayon

by on February 15, 2013 :: 0 comments

One day
I cried a terrible magnifying glass
and appeared in the Hemlock tree

a little mess,
tiny horns and mummy hats.
The front yard frowned,

Quiet sky,
candle messages on magazine,
wrapping paper houses everywhere.

editors note:

Front yard musings fuse occipital convolutions into daytime death dream dances. Blow out those candles and sleep. (With this poem, Zachary joins our congregation of Contributing Poets. See more of his work on his new page.) – mh

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