A.g. Synclair

This is the hell we abide
there are ghosts here
huddled patiently under naked trees
held tightly behind the eyes
in a pair of warm pockets
the sky is falling all around us
there is nothing else to do
but slip into the cover of darkness
and wait for a long, long snow.

©2012 This work is the property of the author.


Posted on November 1, 2012, in A.g. Synclair, POETRY and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink. 4 Comments.

  1. MM welcomes A.g. Synclair with this, the first of two honed and profound poems…It’s about far more than is contained in Halloween’s pageantry, but there are some ghosts in it.

  2. Shadenfreud and Freud combine in an idiosyncratic secretive syncretism of a.g. with a poet’s
    alchemy of synesthesia with a gallows language of spirits rather than any mordant sinful nature

  3. Haunting, in the best sense.

  4. A.g. Synclair, great poem !!!

    b.z. niditch, “an idiosyncratic secretive syncretism” ?

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