Thursday, June 16, 2011

poem || Keith Higginbotham

The That

in was and were
and hung
moon rhyme
To. ward

(5) the you
of beheld summertime last

profits hitch—O tightly pale the up

(4) I'd from blossoming beneath
bathed the
beauty I've rolled moonlight want

softly beach stood
to free-
smelling crime and
(3) Conjures not

the immortal stars
of me (2)
of, curled

undressed (vowels bar your
rock in; folded from
wilted songs

love-stuck with
toes croon notes (1) unrest in

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