Another Cup of Hormones, Please

Poetry exacerbates
The small things
The tiny imperfections
The blemishes up and down a parchment
Smudge
Smudge
Smudge
Work it in, get me good
My heart will arrest
And then maybe my fingers will write
Free from the meddling of this
Logical,
Soggy brain.
--September 30, 2005

Posted by Florence on Thursday, June 15, 2006 at 2:18 AM | Permalink