the form will shape me
the sadness creeps as it would-
and the child dies young.
guitar on her hip
she sleeps so very soundly
so the very sound-
the sound will sorround
in her black and red cliche
checkerboard jumping.
they say that no life
is better than one life is-
better than nothing.
disloyal and sad-
there are people in this world-
hopping, leaping mad,
heartaches and toothaches and with
hanging twisted rope
they actually do it.
a reflex kicking
you are only fingers and-
yet you do not grasp-
complete, this is it.
a snowshoe crunches forward.
gone, I am so gone.
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Reach for the clouds. . .
Tickle your toes. . .
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Poets United Contributor
These are fun/interesting to read aloud. Very nice!
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