Oh for the unknown feet
Fresh, unshoed callous-free
Soft to see
The puttied earth asqueeze
Between a hand of toes
Would then walking be
Full with feels and grass-roots sights
And run so feather-light
As to fly one leg at a time?
Would the virgin thorn
Or unwashed bottle chip
Cut so deep I'd forget to clot
Softly naked
But not fleeing from
The Man who walks the evening.
Monday, January 05, 2015
I'm bad at vulnerability I like to tie off places Where mess might hide Might wander in to introduce themself Until I'm all kn...
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To slumber And not be tossed about Like an incomplete formula In the mind of a mathematician Is a good thing The solution Lies in reme...
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Shadow Simon says: somewhere along the way Shadow Simon says: you've lost sight of who you are Shadow Simon says: and you lost the words...
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Silence underwhelming Trees flood my eyes and still The radio keeps scritcher-scratching Lighting up my dashboard sill Sailor of the jagged ...