“Poem” by Ryan Mills

Or is it all but that rock(s)
grey courtyard naked trees.

& It is all but that this is
Fall & much September
alive & of.

Throw pebbles at the sky;
“   ing “     “   “ se words;
they say wind or wind chimes.

Months pass by mistressed
mattresses pebbly & one to climb
they say wind or wind

& It goes on & It is a lie & It
they say is a steep street & one
to climb. Throwing pebbles

at sky or Or full moon?
Flies on full & crinkles
summer harvest & It is Fall.

& pebbles mean curl up finished
could not get more: re: much of
Throwing pebbles toward.

Or It is all but that grey.

 

 

***

Ryan Mills is a federal employee in Portland, Oregon. Ryan has had poems appear on Gramma Poetry, in 1001 Journal, Poor Claudia, and various other places. Ryan is the poetry editor for The Gravity Of The Thing, an online literary journal, and is a frequent photographer of restrooms.

Image: neolith.com

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