AnnMarie Eldon



Seven

In dreams burden beasts swirl plough lines to grain.
On waking my furniture trips a private, personal phrenology.
You're quarts, yards, unmetrical.

You cast me The News At Ten.
You are not real to me

you slither a thougt
I dust you away











e-mail the poet at AEldon1@aol.com
info on the writer
to go back to the home page