Every word's a path,
each sentence a tree
and all attached to a stump of a woman
thin at the base then growing in circles,
until age is defined by height,
her illness by weight.
How can the wood of trench walls
look so lucid, perspex branches
contorting into string in the wind,
knotting air into eddies keeping them
floating right there?
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 8:13 AM UTC
Every word's a path,
each sentence a tree
and all attached to a stump of a woman
thin at the base then growing in circles,
until age is defined by height,
her illness by weight.
How can the wood of trench walls
look so lucid, perspex branches
contorting into string in the wind,
knotting air into eddies keeping them
floating right there?
from the poetry website, coffeeshoppoems.com
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