poem n/a
into your sinewy frame
i can't imagine
you running
without the flared nostrils
and every vein bulging
beneath your
taught skin
because I
have found
dust on the treadmill
and in Sylvia's oven
and
on the floor
of our broom closet
and right now
it's in my
blood
1 comment:
Hehe, Damien Hirst always seems a little unlikeable. I actually find myself liking some of the stuff that he's done, but when I hear Bono talking about how it was Hirst who named the latest U2 album or whatever I cringe and try to resist the urge to eat my own arm. I dunno.
I like this poem; and I see my old friend Sylvia has popped up;)
The writing is going ok thanks, man. And I guess I can see that yours is. I like the nature posts on here too - have you seen this new research about the love life of the octopus? They hold hands! I thought that was nice.
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