Wednesday, October 13, 2010

Poetry On The Rocks ~ Gordon Mason

A night artist has impastoed
white hyacinths on mountains,

headdresses of a spring
still in winter’s purse.

Last night we drank Morgan
as the hours trickled by.

Emptied pockets froze
ring marks to beer mats

for other drinkers to imbibe
their amber stillness.

Eyelid buds will crack
open as each morning light

warms the block dropped
by October’s tongue.

And words will flow again
like icemelt rivers.

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