Nov 2013
There’s a spider on your cheek
To the right of a wrinkle.
Has it become a feature of your
Face -
Do people stare and sketch it?
What long days you keep.
I will turn my eyes on you tonight,
Because there is no romance to the burning dog
Dragged like a myth to the tune of a truck -
And no roses or violets
Will sweeten that path.
To the right of a wrinkle.
Has it become a feature of your
Face -
Do people stare and sketch it?
What long days you keep.
I will turn my eyes on you tonight,
Because there is no romance to the burning dog
Dragged like a myth to the tune of a truck -
And no roses or violets
Will sweeten that path.
a little poem about the saddest planet. (I tend to give personalities to things that definitely don't have personalities.)
