Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jul 2010
Spinning on the ground
leads to spitting in the skies
underneath the pillows
underneath the lies.

Discover what the boredom left
crevasses wide and deep
smashed together like a puzzle
holding off the sleep.

Hunched over like a sack of weeds
carrots for your mother
mixed up letters numbers
each one to emphasize the other.
Ruth Forberg
Written by
Ruth Forberg  Chicago
(Chicago)   
640
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems