when letter and verbage
turn to digit and limb
length in sentence
becoming the reach
pulling me up
and out
from the inside
laying open
displayed
turned again, into myself
folded soft pages
ink running
in streams
cornered leaflets tremble
as language
breathes
life
projectile spewing thoughts
Comments
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Nice write here. Thought provoking.
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a good poem, ah spill the ink and laugh like well, someone laughing i suppose, let the moments twist you into those mental times, coloured with wonderous shapes of love for art. failing that, have a
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Nicely done, we do lay our soul bare to the world when we write. The pages all fresh and newly inked. Hoping against hope that someone will understand our joy or pain. Close not the book nor mar the crisp edges for there is much more to be written... Scott
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