Details |
Barrett Yandell Poem
Not natural, this repose.
The others act at playing
in the sea. Dubbed-in laughter.
Who gave the ending away?
Cue sunset. Slow, moribund.
I think of darkness to come,
of blood and sharp cutting things.
And that large thrashing horror
just now breaking the surface.
Copyright © Barrett Yandell | Year Posted 2014
|
Details |
Barrett Yandell Poem
Not natural, this repose.
The others act at playing
in the sea. Dubbed-in laughter.
Who gave the ending away?
Cue sunset. Slow, moribund.
I think of darkness to come,
of blood and sharp cutting things.
And that large thrashing horror
just now breaking the surface.
Copyright © Barrett Yandell | Year Posted 2014
|
Details |
Barrett Yandell Poem
Funereal sky, bloated river; stifling.
Lost sheep mar near fields, bleating mournfully.
Weighs heavily, this filial duty.
Frankly suffocating. Gather her up.
Dead crow, flat, gross underneath. Spit at it.
Must make ado; toss the ashes and go.
Her porch light was on the night Jesus came.
And now there's no one here to bring me home.
Copyright © Barrett Yandell | Year Posted 2014
|