The Edges of Tiny Wings – a poem

​Edged softness swarms on tiny wings,

The constant lull of airborne things

Roams in the air all around, confusing

The senses, nervous tics and tangled starts.


Ahead, behind, in the air, all around,

Too hard to tell for the full sound

That seems to be everywhere, soft

The susurration yet deadly in slight.


Try to ignore the possibility, wings

Bearing stings from furry, bulbous bodies,

Or thin striped ones, vicious in hive

Blind loneliness; ever and anon rises

That edged soft blurring winged hum.



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s