Apparition Poems

by Adam Fieled

#549 I'm conscious of freedom, how it flares against brick, how it stirs. Yellow backs of combatants, & chain-gang commerce in armor, mind-forged manacles scraped, muscle-displays in time's diaspora. Lastly, they turn away from facts, look instead at trunk-scissions, leafy morasses, all over smalltown America, steeples chased. I'm conscious of this, of my own yellow writing it down, seated.

Get BookMosh