Sunday, July 10, 2011

she hides in walls

she claws down a section
of the old, thick paper
& presses her tiny spine against
the cool, splotched surface
of the raw wall
then shields her melancholy shape
w/the two jagged, torn-down fragments
& even tho her fragile, scissored arms are visible
she feels momentarily camouflaged
from a world of unrestored loss
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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