Masses

Poem By Ayn Timmerman

Low buzzing
car and voice
pollution of space
anonymous
in a crowd
loud,
fickle,
looming faces,
heavy,
broken,
daily races,
measure up,
pay me no heed
while I compress.

Comments about Masses

There is no comment submitted by members.


Rating Card

5 out of 5
0 total ratings

Other poems of TIMMERMAN

A Quiet Mind

Lift up the cover and look
at the things scattering,
hidden, secret things;
the way insects

Cerulean Blue

With one finger
I paint a
Cerulean blue streak

Break Loose

I am stuck in a daily circle,
a routine that limits my
energy since I am a part of
a cycle conforming to

Ecology

I.

The sun has brought
the temperature up to

The Change (Fall)

A cold stone sun,
white disc behind
a gray haze-

Insects

Japanese beetle lace
hangs as delecately
as moth-eaten curtains
shrouding the field