Written for Sunday Muse #248.
at the bus stop blue is a desert night’s edge chamfered by glum mist in cold's gluttony and I am devoured knee marrow carved to painful points the camphor laurel holds its brief pink between my fingers from the hot house to this creaking river this newborn colour a flame in darkness
Out of the Cave 
This feels so desolate.
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Thanks, Misky. Yes, that’s what I got for the image so that sounds about right.
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The knee marrow. 😫
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We just had an ice storm last week, so this hits home. Really enjoyed these lines,
the camphor laurel
holds its brief pink
between my fingers
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Thanks Bob. I have never lived in a place that cold so Ia glad it rang true for you!
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Winter can be beautiful, or it can be a bit rough. Sure makes one appreciate the spring when if does arrive.
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good to see another Worms poem; I had to look up ‘chamfered’ — I never did woodwork at school —loved the images, esp ‘cold’s gluttony ‘ —
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Thanks, John. Chamfered is one of those words I must’ve heard my Dad use over the years and it pipped into my head. I had to look it up to be sure of its meaning but it seemed appropriate.
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that strange vocabulary you sometimes use reminds me of Less Murray; I’m into reading him again —
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Not so strange if you’re a carpenter. 😉
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so true — and that’s what happens when words ‘peculiar to a craft escape into the mainstream; I’m crafting a poem on that very concept now, Worms
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