String up
the tightrope,
make me
wobble. Return
the bed of nettles,
I crave
ruddiness. Punch
a hole in my side
to leak
a burn
to the doorways
I ball-up in.
It used to be important,
the sting. Now it is
imperative
to remembering
almost
bliss.
Comments
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this was a pleasure to read i really liked a lot of the lines in this one, just an idea perhaps you could end it simply with the word- imperative- i think that would give it more punch at the end, mind you thats just my hummble opinion, i really enjoyed this poem
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I wonder
The sudden change of value and the temperment of a sly Fox. Where shall it lead to in the end? I, forever learning.
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Great title. I'm thinking, someone out there is bound to get the message and "cross it". This deeply passionate, beautiful writing. Geo
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starving Harleys
with a sense of sharp carving nestled in a robust consolation, this is a well-arranged justle and spar for position. the incubation period isn't long, but it lends to the poem's urgency, if you will. a cigarette for a tobacco patch?
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