The Much Abused Stars
speaking of stars
sometimes, speaking of sometimes
the moon
why always the moon? what crime in poetry
has it committed
to always accuse it of being
too silent?
screeching cars, searching for scars,
breaching brakes, couched screams
ice cream on rocky road flavors
tongue twisting on a trip for tarts
for a start
i guess, things are alright with us
here waiting for the bus.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Added by Poetry Lover
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