Photo by Nikki Dawson (Pixabay)


after Heath Houston

Outside, rain. My
umbrella hides words,
rhymes that were.

Hate came for yours;
overtures we once
perfected played on under
extinct moons, while stars
slew children — whose?

Defunct names,
inscribed sidewalks, were
mankind’s last signs.

This acrostic golden shovel is part of Keep Digging Deeper: a tributary web on Chalkboard. (I was extra-super-cheeky with this one, because it’s also a Turas, which is a poetic form Heath Houston invented, so it’s sort of a double tribute.) I worked from a line in this poem:

Flow on…

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