shot glass
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

Chas Holden

Page 1 | 2 | 3

Cruelty of Glass

I guess the mowers hum a coming summer's dirge. I guess
the grass bleeds its green perfume. I guess blossoms
rot like slow explosions. Cruel glass—a spring breeze
always beyond the window. At least sun-heat
can seep through. At least my eyes don't swim
in pollen. At least nothing here reminds me of you.