Still Life of Suburban Life

A songful mourning

On this simply grey morning

For things yet to be drawn

Sing for me please, til the tangerine dawn

 

A silent plea

To be set free

Gaping whispers

Window blisters

 

Flutter-less curtains

Sleeping kittens

Small thirsty souls

And empty fishbowls

 

This photograph's burning

s my eyes, a slow churning

Arms crossed and enduring

All the little things that do no curing

 

The wallowing heart

Splitting apart

Like water dripping

On dents on clay, ripping

 

All these words perfect

The pencil drawing I reject

A picture of my grey strife

Of suburban still life

This poem is about: 
My community

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