The poem lay down her head.
The pillow was warm.
Sure Bob Dylan's always on the road
And no song is really ever performed the same
Blah blah blah.
Where's that get him?
I like him more when he's not there
She pursed.
Then her dreams
Knives
Speckled wings of dead birds
Blood on the toilet seat ...
I used to be fragmented
But now I'm whole
And I'll cancel all of my appointments
For haircuts forever.
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Author:
Chuck (
Offline) - Published: February 12th, 2024 17:08
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 3
Offline)
Comments1
Excellent work.
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