W
wildescarlet
Guest
I don't know if I've completed this poem or if it's a fragment. Advice?
Snows falling on snow falls fallen.
Warming their hands over the heat of the oil drums
displaced members of artist colonies and rodeo circuits
tell old stories that are faded photographs
used to feed the flames brighter than their day in the sun.
When the fire’s gone, voices turn back to ash;
shipyards of dreams resort to empty liquor bottles,
victory hides in a swollen can of beans:
Husks of memories that burnt and died like stars.
And the snow falls on fallen snows falling.
Snows falling on snow falls fallen.
Warming their hands over the heat of the oil drums
displaced members of artist colonies and rodeo circuits
tell old stories that are faded photographs
used to feed the flames brighter than their day in the sun.
When the fire’s gone, voices turn back to ash;
shipyards of dreams resort to empty liquor bottles,
victory hides in a swollen can of beans:
Husks of memories that burnt and died like stars.
And the snow falls on fallen snows falling.