Peter Storey
The Watcher
by Peter Storey A cold sun sets on shrubs grown tall, rooted in a punctured ball, And on the sad and shadowed ruins of a home, deserted in this fall Save for a bottle and a man, empty both, upon the floor. He croons and gurgles in troubled sleep, bottle clutched like long-lost doll, While [...]
26Apr2012 | admin | 0 comments | Continued