despair has no debate

  

 

 

   if the moon is the consistency of cheese-cloth, gloved leather,

   after the aswarm of poets an astonishment.

   And if there really is no blank, white-paper skies.

   Then there is nothing to fold the twisted off

   heads of insects

   into.

Reviews

[Tree]

Dana, I love the way you tuck the reader gently into position
and force them to witness the unimaginable. Another brilliant,
little poem.

On a side note I had not realized how extensive a library you've
amassed down here, I'll be sampling your other writes one
by one

[Helen Crutchett]

I loved the description of the moon, very original. But you are an original I can see with your great writes. Keep penning more please!

[celyn]

The last few lines are just sublime, unexpected but brilliant. Your writing has a lot of vivid imagery, it works so well here. Love it.

[sienikeha]

!! love

"Then there is nothing to fold the twisted off heads of insects into."

[Emily B]

a masterpiece that fits in the palm of my hand, i can carry it with me wherever i go