50 degrees drop
in temperature – 180
turn in politics
who will be left in the cold?
who will be gnashing their teeth?
50 degrees drop
in temperature – 180
turn in politics
who will be left in the cold?
who will be gnashing their teeth?
with one simple glance
beauty i can never paint
dawn hues on cloud puffs
old man with a broom
brushing off what gridlocked streets
three inches of snow
just before daylight
sounding like woodpecker’s song
man on jackhammer
groan of truck engine
revving through gears after stop
echoes night’s stillness