The Crickets

 

I like to slit the world into lines
So dusk is a kind of waking music.
Up the road, the orchard is hypnotized with apples
Like stars in a black gravity of stillness.

There is a sea of them, no, this is a voice.
There is the end of a record player
Being peeled, like an apple
With its antennae.

These crickets have one thing to explain
And have not finished it.
A car passes outside the window,
The way you loved me.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.