By George Freek
WE HAVE POETRY (After Du Fu, a Tang Dynasty poet) During nights of interminable darkness, I curse the sky. But that’s foolish. The sky is merely a graveyard, where dead stars lie. In my chest there’s a vacancy, where something else should be, something like a clock, but its mechanism is worn and faulty. As stars look down, they shine like jewels on a false beach. They mean nothing to me.
George Freek’s poetry has recently appeared in The Ottawa Arts Review, Acumen, The Lake, The Whimsical Poet, Triggerfish and Torrid Literature.
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