Does one wonder in hidden moonlight, drowned
by noonday sun, if lunacy seeps even now into
cracks, pores, follicles, corners of eyes? Surely
this maelstromic soup, part mother, part father,
part those who piled invectives during years
best forgotten, cannot have coalesced entirely
without simmering by some stronger force?
93/100
100 poems in 100 days
[how weird! WordPress refused to add the tag “nurture”…and only that one…]
