issue 34 > poetry > kuspit
-
the gods again
by Donald Kuspit
they disappoint,
words being worthless
to them,
frozen buds being more brittle.
half-formed flakes
of gray snow
their stillborn element,
isolated drippings
of sullen feelings
their forgotten truth,
callous myths
their lasting glory.
withered moss on my mind,
they coat its hardness
with a softening touch
of death.