My favourite poems, one by one
Twisted. A sweater wrung
in a towel to dry. Gnarled.
A tree stump where leprechauns
might hide in a pot of gold. Contorted
around its center like a Chinese acrobat.
Convoluted, wound up, bent: my tongue
when speaking from my heart
Nincsenek megjegyzések:
Megjegyzés küldése