on unplugged lamps.
unscrewed light bulbs,
on-turned switch.
unfinished paintings,
rivers unabridged.
leaves lie unchanged,
while seasons have come
and gone.
the fall brings a certain warm
followed by cobwebs, mice,
and a dust monster.
he lives in the boiler room
behind sometimes unlatched doors.
he is quite shy--
this painter with bad lighting.
I love this! And the rest of your poems, but the one especially.
ReplyDeleteI would really appreciate it if you would check out my blog?
Thanks.
www.followingmyfootprints.blogspot.com