deepundergroundpoetry.com
Deep Underground
The heat and humidity seek silence.
Blue tints shift into glints.
Street lights jut into the air like sentinels without a care
For who is there.
Moth beats against the dying of the light
Tonight.
Crisp cool moon shines bright.
I am in the bosom of the universe thinking of verse
In the emergence
Of
Creeping things
like bat wings.
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