Whisper breezy promises across my neck
I'll fall down like a delapidated wreck
No time left ticking with my hands,
Where comes my weakness nothing stands,
No Life's now a juggle of nothing and time
It's a jungle of rhyme--
And I give in knowing not how to handle it.
Remind me how I used to just groove and sandle it.
I'll go where no one ever goes
I'll traipse through the weeds as they graze my toes
Know that everyone thinks, and thinks everyone knows.
But no longer caring I'll turn up my nose.
I'll give in to the spiritual throes,
I'll set aside the habitual woes,
I'll file jagged teeth and smoothly gum-
this leathery undertaking, so easy to some.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Reach for the clouds. . .
Tickle your toes. . .
-
July 12th My love's hands and eyes so full of surprise! he sees nothing wrong with giving me a synthetic strawberry.
-
Tickling toes- there was something about that barefooted madness something about that wistful waist-high wishing and wooshing in the woods, ...
-
wide-eyed and curious, he peeks from his shell with seaweed speckles, where 8 monarch butterflies landed permanently. he puts his footing on...
-
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...
-
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...
-
July 9th i feel like running again. it's either that or swimming in a valley of tears. July 10th you couldn't tell by looking at us,...
-
My dearest Lavinia, for Emily Dickinson You, ever my confidante- I hoped that you might be available, fingers interlaced, with my boot step ...
-
I was just awarded the Stylish Blogger Award! (awarded by John Evans ) I was asked to write 7 things about myself,and to award 10 ot...
-
confession is all: it is what my poetry is, and that is my life.
No comments:
Post a Comment