A Poem by Christopher Kenneth Hanson

Staid, The Night

This night, the day fowl laugh hazily

Through the wafted green air-

Said night-as seeded, dazed:

And quiet, frequently-

 

To a realm of callous currency now:

Here fly- the frigid clipped mocking birds;

Lurching past frigid chirped contingencies-

 

Towards a space of tempered reality; even

Sprouts of a languid sky- infinite-

Here lie-here lies-

By lone skewered sky

Sedated, in posture- as tripped night.

 

 

 

 

Christopher Kenneth Hanson (ckhanson81)

ckhanson81@gmail.com

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