Poem # 38

Fairies pissing in
tin pie pans
as the sun sinks
ever lower in the
sky.

Street lights
blink and flicker
into being.
Giants dance
around the
stacked shopping
carts.

Orange scars
on the face of
the horizon.

Random Titles Looking for Poems in the Gloaming

The Plane Flies Low in the Silver Sky

Sometimes on Tuesdays it Would Rain

The Congo is a River That Sounds Like a Drum

Frankenstein Was a Monster Made of Manparts.

The Horror of Humpty Dumpty Always Haunts Our Collective Dream

Traffic Flowers on Dirt Highway’s Dirt