shake up my heart
and flavor your life
it is full of holes.
you cannot see me
for I am brow deep
in my old pain
and I cannot speak
because I swallowed
too much dirt.
some people channel
heaven through their
bodies just so you
can catch a glimpse
I want to be like them
but I cannot
for I am brow deep
in my old pain
and I cannot speak
because I swallowed
too much dirt.
shake up my heart
and flavor your life
it is full of holes.
my words provoke
silence I am the inspired
and not the inspiring
and my age
and experience do
not show on my face.
I am a drifter
brow deep in the
sea come and find me
but where you are you
are shaking up my heart
to flavor your life
it is full of holes.
i am sorry you are
covered in lines.
some people channel
heaven through their
bodies just so you
can catch a glimpse
I want to be like them
but I cannot
for I am brow deep
in my old pain
and I cannot speak
because I swallowed
too much dirt.
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Reach for the clouds. . .
Tickle your toes. . .
-
The Anchor for Joel When love embarks, with its generating propellers slicing through the interminable oceans of imperfection that are, for ...
-
husband and I trek a mile for ice cream just for the creamy banana, crunchy pecans, and chunks of thumb-sized chocolate. shoes flipping and...
-
RICK: Hey Rick? DICK: Yea, Dick? RICK: See that sky roll on by? (points) DICK: ...Oh, my... RICK: Don't i-t'almost makes yer wanner....
-
hunger is sometimes preferable to loneliness. a stomach will twist- but hands become dirty and heavy when full of coins.
-
Golden tendrils on her shoulder no rhyme, no reason, just getting older her half-pint work of exhaltation now serves as mere constant frustr...
-
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...
-
Empty lines- Now there are not enough notes- and I am missing notes- I am missing your notes too much time passing two, three, four, five to...
-
nipped at the ankles which is how I wander through life sometimes I must be pushed through a door finally opened after years of knock...
-
There is something spooky about me. I am certain of it. Or else why does the thought of you dying for me, somehow slightly perk me up. Bette...
I am a drifter
ReplyDeletebrow deep in the
sea
nice :)) and the piece rolls like waves.
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteHi Kiddo
ReplyDeleteMeant to tell ya, you're up!
http://www.virtualpoetryreading.com/?p=435
Keep 'em coming, thanks! Moskaroo