First Storm

red lights skewing
across the road
in the white darkness
and the visible wind.

we sleep through
someone’s near disaster,
ignorant for now of fear
of losing control

even as we are blown
in our dreams to vulture islands
as the cold beak of winter
tears at our rest. 

we will face the morning
with crossed fingers
hoping the road under the snow
will hold us when it’s our turn.

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About Tony Brown

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A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

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