Trails of space trash, bits
of rock ice, maybe
a whisper of God’s voice—
comet debris, grains
of sand. Everyone who loves
has a problem;
life depends
on elegant patterns:
moonshine & cricket bone,
extinction & certain birds
flying in loop migration who stop
to replenish; seasonal nought
in wind aids flight of fancy,
and all kaleidoscopes
depend on pixels.
It may be as easy as rolling
the eyes or pointing.
Freedom of choice
is often in err by the curve
of a dactyl.
Tim J Brennan’s poetry can be found in many nice places including The Bitchin’ Kitch, Green Blade, Talking Stick, The Lake (U.K.), KAXE public radio, UpNorth, and Volume One. Brennan’s one act plays have played across the country including stages in Milwaukee, Colorado Springs, Gulf Shores, Rochester, & White Bear Lake Lake & Spring Valley MN, and most recently in Ypsilanti, MI.
Photograph by Yellowstone National Park.
Thanks for Liking my stuff. Write on.
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Send more any time. Us Timothys gotta stick together! Wink…
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