When standing in a garden of profundity
everything loses it's meaning...
and when stopping
to smell the
chromatic wisdoms
you are lost in the
overwhelming field
of academic poppies
causing you drift to sleep.
Alone and snoring.
Caught in the overflow of
delusions and allusions
and exclusions and illusions.
Transfusions of the bloodless
inability to translate what is gone.
Words elude you.
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Tickle your toes. . .
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A woman's stance feet parted so that like a breezy window the mantle opened slightly lets in curves of salty air- but here there is no, ...
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there is a small leaf over your eye and yet you can still see me.
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there ain't no other place like you to roam. where I dug in my heels and said "No, I won't come home!" Dancing in the warb...
Poets United Contributor
You are a garden of profundity.
ReplyDeleteThree cheers for Noam Chomsky!
lol, jk...
aw, I'm Noam Chomsky!?! ;)
ReplyDelete