Poetry for me is a way of living, it comes out of nowhere and I have to write it down. How I write, what I write, I decide. I am not asking you to be judgemental. I am gifted with the ability to see beyond the obvious.
Thursday, October 01, 2009
let the red bleed
that hole in your chest makes for a nice design that blueness sets of the white
why are we both made to carry long iron rods who the hell is playing God?
I would melt it, pour it on myself, let the red bleed, meld into you
this seat of metal burns me your fixed eye turns me on your face is a mottled blur
red, white, red, white more and more are added until everything else fades