Menu

Truth Of Windmills

Rating: 5.0
Here is a new river, bubbling- making love with
Gold light underneath the apple trees
Where the truants go to get freckled and to steal away from
Each other every day:
Where the Mexicans sleep at the bottom of worthless ladders,
Knowing what they mean to themselves:
And I look up at your Anglicism, Alma, with the neverending
Truth of windmills stuck to the roof of my mouth.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
COMMENTS

Delivering Poems Around The World

Poems are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge...

1/27/2021 3:23:43 PM # 1.0.0.448