Untitled Poem from Our Resident Poet

I am excited today to share with you an untitled poem from the MC's resident poet, Mr. G.o. Horvilleur

  Your thought drifts
like a lone bird in perpetual migration.

We're scattered leaves
in august...
and Whitman has no song for us

a voice, hollow guitar,
off beat and pleading,

the echoes of your thought's screach
reverberates through the autumn's leaves

and the bird is yellow and red and orange
 it drifts alone, waiting, calling

to shed from the sky,
amongst other falling thoughts
at the first sign of winter

-G.o. Horvilleur

read Mr. Horvilleur's ongoing nonfiction work "The Road to Juarez" here.
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