Around Poem by Adora Williams

Around



I'm a landscape painting
A Tuesday evening
I'm muddy green in spring
The slowest French film

I never had someone who
I
Could
Be
Myself

Around

Because I'm tedious and pointless if you don't get what I see
And no one ever does
It's terrifying, exhilarating, beautiful and saturnine
It begins with never taking the negative spaces for granted
And the wind is home to the other things that we don't talk about

No one knows where the wind will land its birds, it's far far away
But it probably ends with the second hand stuck one tock from clock

My end, the end of everything. And the dullness will still exist

Around

Friday, May 13, 2022
Topic(s) of this poem: confessional,philosophy
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
BEST POEMS
BEST POETS
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
Close
Error Success