Coming at’cha every Sunday at noon Eastern Standard Time EST – here’s more creative content craziness from Jennifer Weigel…
A thick blanket of fog covers all, yet
hill peeks out from its midst though you
full well know that you simply cannot
a mile see, for all here is lost to the catch
hole in the dense foreboding sense – even a
full moon would be easily misplaced in the bowlful.
This poem is written as a Golden Shovel in which the beginning and end of each line is taken from another poem, in this case the Mother Goose nursery rhyme by the same name.
(Image features altered abstracted paint palette with text superimposed.)
Weird Wyrlds 
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