untitled poem by Julian Connors

untitled poem by Julian Connors

untitled

skeletal trees tapping on
my window panes like
the fingers of a desperate priest,

the sky behind them
is unnervingly quiet,
it looks as if it
holds the deaf gods
of the 21st century,

a milky grey-white shade
smoothed over by the entrance
of winter and
the sudden death of fall,

//the killing: two brothers,
fall and winter, drunk with no
inhibitions, what began
as a playful fight
turned malicious, a body fell,
head hit the glass table
and like my crystal eye,
his skull and consciousness
shattered.

thus comes the winter
outside my window


I feel like these lines are useless-, if this ends up being read you have learnt more from me in my shoddy lines of poetry rather than these choppy lines of text. To say a few brief things however, and to not beat around the bush, I’m a young writer, or I’d like to think so, my name is Julian, from Canada, where the cold is my comfort and my home. If I could communicate something in my writings is that we don’t want the truth half the time, we want a lie. Poetry should be more closely affiliated with lying rather than the truth.

Category : Issue Four April 2017 Tags :

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