Saturday, May 5, 2012


I might even chance to stand on your back, for a lift, I wish my conscience could shirk the endless streaming seeds, inside my head, your breath, so windy, inspired. But, no, I am not who you once were I am forever me. but you don't remember, even though you were there. I see a wrinkle in the corner of each eye, for every smile, a wrinkle in your neck for each nod, a wrinkle in your toes for each step ahead. And at times it seems that is all that separates us, a toe. What is competition? Should we compare notes? Stains in our teeth? lumps in our flesh? woes in our head? Should we compare pricks, in our hearts, a pissing contest of damages.

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Reach for the clouds. . .

Tickle your toes. . .

Poets United Contributor