Wednesday, July 15, 2009

As If It Wasn't Crowded Enough

sometimes it feels like loss
plants another skeleton
inside of you

as if it wasn't crowded
with one set of bones

some nights you can
feel them slowly turning
in a tight embrace

this melancholy couple
dancing within

and it's almost kind of sweet
on those nights i drink away
and whistle a solemn tune
to this strange moving union
This blog is updated irregularly and has nothing to do with the poet's output. The poet is actually disturbingly prolific. He writes about 5 poems per day. The pages are everywhere, even stacked in the bathtub.