Poem for December, Part III
The wood wood grain grain,
In the night night brain brain,
The stress unravels, the years deteriorate,
As the same misquotes continue, continue to alleviate,
Any signs of miscalculation.
Any signs of miscalculation.
And so the whispers of shrines and revolutions,
As they huddle in the winds of the warm winter fog,
As they huddle in the winds of the warm winter fog,
And the gumbies and candies are all chewed to the pink nub,
The pink nub, of celebrations.
The pink nub, of celebrations.
Holocaust, or celebration?
Holocaust, or celebration?
Long forgotten are the hills with snow,
The warm waves, the cold cannons,
The warm waves, the cold cannons.
Published by Albert Chang
On Associated Content since September, 2008... View profile
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