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francis-scudellariPoems
I want to paint it this plaint I've worded one thousand unrecorded instants only to see both the deep and tinny syllables I thought vibrantly tinted dissolve into pale, gooey-bottomed wails I should pitch it this paste to patch an unfrocked eye searching puffy tears for atoms escaped within abandoned margins as narrow as the difference between my white canvas and an emptying hand I have to plug it this post hole bored by my frantic inattentions and stencil a sign: bold letters below a starched cuff, its pulseless finger pointing out there's one way round sniveling sounds
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Jul 2, 2010
Jul 2, 2010 at 9:47 AM UTC
Slippery words spew, and I can't stop their flow
I want to paint it this plaint I've worded one thousand unrecorded instants only to see both the deep and tinny syllables I thought vibrantly tinted dissolve into pale, gooey-bottomed wails I should pitch it this paste to patch an unfrocked eye searching puffy tears for atoms escaped within abandoned margins as narrow as the difference between my white canvas and an emptying hand I have to plug it this post hole bored by my frantic inattentions and stencil a sign: bold letters below a starched cuff, its pulseless finger pointing out there's one way round sniveling sounds
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francis-scudellari
Written by
francis-scudellari
American
Jul 2, 2010
Jul 2, 2010 at 9:47 AM UTC
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