Upon arrival it smells
exactly as it should,
or only slightly different
than how it ought to
it should be
equal too; not you
like a morning mood
it can be a fickle youth
A poem lays:
a floor
It asks: what
am I naked for?
~
Beauty the incunabula
—first traces—of poetry
Feelings—known but unnamed—
spurned from the sublime
~
So fine
the lines
widening
like child’s
eyes before
fruit
ripening,
before it’s
known what
right is
any
good for you
—as mud for
elephants—
Snacks at
noon
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 8:22 PM UTC
Upon arrival it smells
exactly as it should,
or only slightly different
than how it ought to
it should be
equal too; not you
like a morning mood
it can be a fickle youth
A poem lays:
a floor
It asks: what
am I naked for?
~
Beauty the incunabula
—first traces—of poetry
Feelings—known but unnamed—
spurned from the sublime
~
So fine
the lines
widening
like child’s
eyes before
fruit
ripening,
before it’s
known what
right is
any
good for you
—as mud for
elephants—
Snacks at
noon
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