Tony Towle

(1939 / New York City / United States)

December - Poem by Tony Towle

Here are the wheels of the new kingdom and here,
here are the radical tires. You believe me of course, a plant,
a cup, who have demonstrated affectionate indifference,
the blundering forest charm plunked you into, number 32.
We end thoughtfully, with three dots . . .
in contrast to the inertness of the ball.

In the discussion above I spoke of the inertness of the ball.
The numbers get higher, in sequence. A sequence
is a godsend, another cloud in the Alps and the air.


Comments about December by Tony Towle

There is no comment submitted by members..



Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?



Poem Submitted: Friday, August 8, 2014



[Hata Bildir]