XVII. Unmade

A glimpse at my upcoming book "Letters Of Neon"

Behind hazy moons
float the distant stars of sky
hot in their glitter.
Now these stars may come undone
to the sound of falling rain.

These clouds are of doubt
studded in empyrean,
above  my thick mind.
There’s a forest in my house
with words waiting to get out.

Beyond private walls
darkness whorls around us
capturing dream stuff.
Inside bricks that I have laid
our minds have begun to fray.

So unmade we are,
against hazy crescent moons,
in tatters we bide.
Inside our brightest bedroom,
the stars, they fill our hearts up.

The End

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