Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Mar 2011
a stopping sort of started ending newing knewing sort of ended stopped and beganed sort of yesing sort of wooing newing
      sortofandalso
                                  alsok
    ­    i
         nd of stopped starting begunning
like well gee the summer was a nasal laughing roughness kind of sort of.
            i'd like to kind of
  or else to maybe
                                              with autumn who was distinctly haired
        in rich arresting dead
               that kind of starting stopping started
                                                                ­                    or well i'd like to think
     it,swellwhynotanywaybecause noone never didn't atall even in the big gabled church of dawn that strung the sky with gelatinous heaving fibers
all rabidly gesticulating puffy sansfinger hands grimaced on the slender naked
blue and black and bursting sort of kind of because sinewed fluffy hammers on because wrists because
                                               when you get all ***** in the mucky sterile daughters little pink little rose bud climbing open little rose bud up open big blooming like pink little sort of big sort of small sort of rose bud
        you kind ofwell you clean kind of your you you clean kind of clean it straight razor cleaning your you
          you cleaned with her big sharp little ******* all sharp and little and big under her shirts under her skirts kind of sort of because
                            that,s
                            w­her
                             e
                            she keeps it she
                            keepsitin there



                                                             ­                                                          summer:
she was unfreezing fresh squeezed lemon wedges sugar hilltops sweaty laughing nightmares in the big in the pale in the cordial surly pillow thick skinny heaps of gobbled luscious hot raining balmy slow quaking deaths every day i stood on that hill and i looked out over the city and she was really well gee sort of because.... . . . .               .                ,       ;       '                "
PK Wakefield
Written by
PK Wakefield
668
   Nina McNally
Please log in to view and add comments on poems