The bearers

cootie mist

The bearers
cootie mist

Now when the reaping resulted in return,
last summer’s growth of bough, branchlet bugged;
cut off shoots, sprays and sprigs.
Dismembered, ditched, discarded now;
left to rot at root as rubbish,
in silliness severed of stuff and nonsense.
Where exit ends in eternal rest,
avail, applies at advantage into anew.
Consumed by cootie creatures that can’t be seen,
ajar, agape and airy their breath in mist.
The bearers of dingy dimness in dusky months,
where whoever watches may dance with all of will.


One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.