Today cannot decide.
I linger, eyes at half-mast,
beneath a dome of curdled milk
and a star sleeping in.
I pretend to exist
until I take form,
like a watercolor
bleeding into itself,
or a bead of water
on a pavilion roof.
Published in Open Arts Forum on .
Hugh does not prefer to talk about himself in the third person, but if he did, he'd tell you he's in a self-imposed exile on the east coast of the USA, but still loves his former home in the Sonoran Desert. He is the author of Odd Numbers And Evensongs and Auditions For The Afterlife.
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