a lock has been broken.
safe-keeping is relative
and unlike kitten curled up
blanket-snug fever pitch is high
caught low crib bars bend-and
delusions roll over.
what can one do, but
smith the lock and
bend the key
and seal the lips
and bind the mouth
and trip the switch-
but the lock is still broken.
and a little blood seeps out.
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Reach for the clouds. . .
Tickle your toes. . .
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Ah, 7. The number in question. During this process of developing my first full-length work of prose, and a memoir to boot, I have considered...
Poets United Contributor
Wonderful and a little obscure. Like the metaphor.
ReplyDeletethanks Budd-y.
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