Kyle Costa Poems

They used to call us moon watchers,
our eyes of guardian drones
gazing the random access points
of a diverting canvas of sleeping dreams.
...

The harbor gave a dim illumination,
Lampposts vaguely penetrating the dark water.
As waves like shades of wine drowned the jagged shore of stone,
I watched a fibrous complexion of steel shimmer from the water's edge.
...

It's Tuesday again.

It always rains on Tuesday.
...