by July 4, 2017 0 comments

spastic filter of branches
catching duskclouds,
hammocked slackly up Fisher Hill
for you

bristly blind of snow up to here
curbing your cigarette break,
bound closely around Fenway slush
for you to love

dirty distillation of static
obscuring sweet mommysong,
cradled tautly under car’s radio
for you to love through

– Colin Webb

editors note:

Drag or safety; much to love through every day. – mh clay

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