Saturday, March 03, 2012

By the still, wet, glistening eye
You kneel
And hold the hand too weak to work
In letting fall the drips of soul
I find
A tearing that has made me whole.

No comments:

How do I lose myself?

I am not easily misplaced Or forgotten, Arriving as I do Before even the curtains draw And that first morning jug boils, Bleary, yes Grudgin...