Tuesday, July 5, 2011

little dead girl in the wisteria vines

there is a little dead girl
half behind the wisteria vines
only her legs sticking out
a youthful pair slim as roots

i've lost my love, her sad face weeps
from the wisteria's tangled arms
& i hate the universe now
how dare it steal his shape away?

there is a little dead girl
half behind the wisteria vines
not quite safe from harm

i can't bear this emptiness
if only these vines would
wholly swallow me up

i'll gladly wait here
until my prince returns home
& sorrow ends, her sad face moans
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.

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