The storm eaters
The guilty moment hanged
Suspension before the tempest
Sweet anticipation in high humidity
No sound
But ragged breath
No sound
But insects banging tiny
Heads on window panes
Distant buzzing
Unregarded
The slow tracking of a limb
Increased heartrates
Uncurtained midnight
Sky
Breaks.
Words and image are my own.
©2018
Runaway American Dream 
Back to some poetry I see. Nice one. A poet, historian, a genealogist – a true Renaissance Man. Hey, leave some room for the less ambitious among us. 🙂
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I’ve ever been accused of having too much ambition before.
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Well, ambitious enough to to through hoops to get from Australia to Jersey.
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Speaking of that, how fares the graphic novel?
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Moving house has somewhat broken my creative flow but I’m slowly getting my mojo back.
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Well, there’s work mojo and creative mojo I guess. Good luck with either or both.
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