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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=576307" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Fits of Weather</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=576307" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Sunlight on a snake in between the<br>Rabbits and the caesuras: <br>And it seems that she has the sunlight in her eyes, <br>Like the birthday candles of good luck, <br>While the airplanes curl and caracole: <br>And Sharon never looked so beautiful, even though<br>Now I hardly have to think of her, <br>Because I have different pains that are more impending, <br>And I house I come home to be alone in, <br>While my pets move in the north, waiting for me with<br>More faith that I will ever have: <br>And the snake looks away to other pornographies <br>Waiting for little boys in the abandoned cars of their<br>Drunken fathers: <br>And he goes to her, and they curl around for awhile, <br>Dancing, <br>While I wait for the fits of weather that I am sure are<br>Just around the bend.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Bret+R.+Crabrooke">Bret R. Crabrooke</a></strong></div>

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