problem child
stir of hot nickels
loving cup
who stripped the souvenirs
from the dead
the illusion
that holds you
to the sandbox
without shores
wet and shining
torn by solitary comets
splintering daffodils
I scratch my way
to your surface
murmuring low fire
how can I see
beyond your spark
-
Author:
TS James (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: August 7th, 2022 03:06
- Comment from author about the poem: I’ve always liked this little caviot
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 15
Offline)
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.