A quick evening post inspired by some late-night people- and TV-watching.
Will take down in around 24 hours.
THE RETURN
Your hair cut short now
Silver, mined and pared
You wear a bow tie
in it, satin, silk
like your locks once were.
Rich red and paprika
flames, explosions follow
you—lifting you higher.
Kerosene, telomeres
don’t fuel forever
flights. Silver streaks signal
soon you’ll fall from the earth
to the highest heavens.
Adrian Harte
SMALL VICTORIES and the poetry of Adrian Harte 