“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Saturday, January 2, 2016
Ultimate(um)
Please don't look closely.
If you could just squint
and tell me it's good
or just walk away...
It's not taking shape
like I said, trust me though,
as I said it was,
it is nothing...
like you've seen
a thousand times no,
you never saw once
entirely, just hurry
it along, you've said and pled.
I'd rather not, you know
I can't make it-right
write as it is instead.
Image By loosepunctuation (Erica Kline) (Flickr) [CC BY 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Half-dozen Mud cakes
Back to wood decks, quarter-size spiders, webs, moss and creatures stirring in the hollow nights Back to no side-walks and skirting into th...
-
1. Of my Soul a street is: Preternatural Pic- abian tricktrickclickflidk-er garner of starfish Picasso...
-
I have served between eight and twenty-five thousand meals for my family, I make coffee for them more than once per day, equatin...
-
Lies About Love by D.H. Lawrence (1885-1930) We are all liars, because the truth of yesterday becomes a lie tomorrow, wherea...
No comments:
Post a Comment