B.Z. Niditch

Unconsummated dusk
when dirty flowers
expected to die
rest in sleeplessness
like stolen kisses
disarmed under
your windowsill
by early morning
and evaporated
in a water’s breath
turns everything
into bourbon
with consolation’s pity
drawn in words
of absence
recalling Truffaut
in adolesence
blinking your eyes
in art houses
circling shadows
waking the darkness.

©2012 This work is the property of the author.


Posted on February 4, 2012, in B.Z. Niditch, POETRY. Bookmark the permalink. 1 Comment.

  1. Another wily one from B.Z. Niditch, the poet who has a knack for reinventing words. Pay attention and it will make sence.

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