cotton candy swirling sky
fades to ebony spill.
one pup barks in protest.
is it raining there? ah, ebony spill makes me think of mud-tinged rain-drops.
Just saw a movie about Hiroshima called “Black Rain.” The inky radioactive rain is what came to mind, although I know this is not your intent!! While I confess I don’t quite understand the brevity of these poems, I am intrigued and have read them all, so I’ll comment here. Liked this one best! Love, Amy
“cotton candy … fades to ebony spill” It always does, no matter how hard you try to fight it. Day to night, light to dark, sweet to burn, skin to ash. Like overcooked marshmallows, we pass right through the stages of gooey goodness to inedible, deathly pain.
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