Thorns Upon The Alien Corn Poem by David Kowalczyk

Thorns Upon The Alien Corn

Rating: 4.3


Here, in the city of jazz,
the tigers in my dreams
weep neon tears.


I awaken each morning
to the soft moans and
murmurings of the restless dead.
Fine hard snow falls upon the city.


The world strikes
a single note:
C flat..


This has nothing
to do with sex,
or the Kabbalah,
or the nature
of irrational numbers.

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David Kowalczyk

David Kowalczyk

Batavia, New York
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