The eyes of fish laid out on beds of ice in the market. When will this wick of fear burn off?, I wonder. The air suddenly chill. In the morning, he found that the giant spiral of wheel ruts in the vacant lot had filled with rain. “The silence of outer space never seemed so loud,” the singer said of the death of his hero.
Boyer Rickel Read Bio Author Discusses Poems
|©copyright 2004-2019, No Tell Motel. All poems ©copyright the authors.|