This poem is from my collection, Catching Dusk With Our Teeth, that will be available for pre-order next week at here.
November
for what it’s worth and whatever it means for modern
man-
It is harvest season.
the leaves have changed and fallen,
returning earth to earth to start again
And as November becomes bare
I’m trying to remain facing forward
to gather to give thanks in new boots and winter coats
to be grateful to keep it hidden
the rage that flows like white blood cells
rage that, in the right light, you can see it ripple
under the surface
escaping in breaths from pores and words spoken unable to be retrieved.
Thankful that for today,
it is silent;
thankful that I am learning to tame it.
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Comments (1)
Your poem was incredibly outstanding! I loved it! Also, congratulations on your poetry book!