by Howie Good
My heart started going like an antiaircraft gun, a spy leaving coded messages for his emissaries. Dusk seemed to fall by 2 p.m. Reporters interviewed mothers with dead children in their arms. The wind from the heights acquired a touch of red. Taxis ran on charcoal gas. Look out the window, the caller said. Summer is over.
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Howie Good is the author a full-length poetry collection, Lovesick, as well as 21 print and digital poetry chapbooks, including most recently, Hello, Darkness, available from Deadly Chaps. He blogs at apocalypsemambo.blogspot.com. |
WILLOWS WEPT REVIEW 