"coagulated" poems
I'd like to think that she's thinking:
"How far have I fallen?"
As she sits on the corner of her bed,
Listening to the soft buzz of his battery-powered toothbrush.
I imagine her,
Running her fingers through her clumsy, coagulated hair.
Glancing at her chipped, crimson toe nails,
Then looking to her class ring,
Made entirely of imitation ingredients,
Wondering when is the proper time to trash it.
When she was still a friend of mine,
I never saw her wear make up,
I never saw her show off in tight jeans
or low-cut tees.
But as he spews the toothpaste into the sink,
Skinny jeans lay tussled on the floor,
Next to the side door
that leads to his sister's side room.
The make up she wears
is from the night before.
It's skewed and shows evidence of running,
Like a wasted watercolor.
I'd like to think he isn't that handsome,
And that he's obsessed with Paul Walker.
I'd like to think when he re-enters the room,
He's in grey sweatpants,
He's wearing a black tank top,
With a Confederate flag backdrop,
With two barely dressed babes looking ******
in the foreground.
His hair, unwashed and greasy.
He rubs his belly,
And bears an idiot grin
on his face.
Looking like he just learned how to smile
at this pace.
"Did it feel good?"
feel good.
After he asks, he scans her body,
Beginning at those crimson toes,
And Ending at that clumsy hair.
Every second he scans,
He still wears that drawn-on
Idiot grin.
I'd like to think at this point she thinks of me.
Of my warnings and prophesy.
Her eyes start at the chipped toe nails,
Course over her tanning bed-inspired legs.
And finally reach the only thing she has on,
A t-shirt that belongs to his sister.
A t-shirt, when given by him,
It was mentioned, "thanks, mister".
Though she didn't satisfy all his redneck intentions,
During last night's expedition.
He still paid her back with a morning
one-sided session.
"It felt good" she says.
In reference to the ten minute **********
When her body was strummed and plucked,
Underneath his sister's Terri Clark T-shirt.
As she sits in the filth and the ****** fallout,
On a bed that is six days *****
While he is grinning,
Being everything but wordy.
I'd like to think she's thinking:
"How far have I fallen?"
Jun 4, 2010
Jun 4, 2010 at 10:31 PM UTC
Coagulated blood dried out from the sun, footprints pressed into the mud from a night on the run, chased and ravaged, pressed against a tree with emotions gutted.
Mutilated and dying, I'm laying under falling stars, saturated skies and underlying scars, every conversation with you feels like being run over by a highway full of cars.
Blood screaming from a cautourised wound travels farther than your ability to listen to reason, wide eyed, your pasteurized white eyes seem cold but searing like the flesh of a steaming heathen.
Necrosis sets in on the heaping pile of me drudged upon the roots of my personification, watch the black blood slipping through the dirt like molasses as it climbs over your teeth and grips the lips before it passes, blood loss is creating a hallucination.
Watch as I become hollow from your cannibalistic lifestyle. Your desperation, human flesh you defiled, mindless separation, our family's bodies stuffed in a corner and piled, you became a Wendigo, a wicked transmorgification.
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 9:01 PM UTC
As I beheld a flower of rare beauty
In the silence choked heart of wilderness
The facsimile of a pretty woman came alive
From the coagulated heap of images
A woman…….! Isn’t she
God’s supreme handiwork
An animated form of chiseled art
A joy to behold
A figure of curvaceous ups and downs
God’s beautiful calligraphy
Her skin glowing as satin
Hands and fingers of creamy softness
Eyes reflecting love and gentleness
Voice musical and sweet
Moving with measured cadence
And walking with fluid ease
One who smoothens the rough edges of life
But Alas! A treasure rarely valued.
A loving daughter to her parents
An adorable mate to her man
A forgiving mother to all
The fountain spring of new life
The lovely mother to her children!
Though she is branded by many
As frail or fickle, infirm or impish
How empty is a man’s life
Who hasn’t known a woman,
Either as a mother, sister or daughter
Or a lover, companion or wife
This marvel of creation,
This miracle worthy of adulation!
Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 8:14 AM UTC
In a dream I shall feel
The wings of the world unfolding, and
Worlds spinning on the axis of mad journeys;
And the seas breaking turquoise, upon their rippled surface.
In the heart of the ears
I shall hear the shivering willows, dreaming their
Wood-smoke dreams, full of sap and funneled sunlight;
Pierced by light for a thousand years
And the flowers sleeping nestled in stars;
Gathered in the deep, among the wood-thrushes,
In coagulated violet forests, all shadowed and dark:
And a whispered peace barely rustles this world.
Apr 28, 2010
Apr 28, 2010 at 2:44 PM UTC
The light quit working in the jukebox,
the melodies' surrender,
a commonplace extinction,
against the salt and the breeze
of your false Mediterranean.
The burden of your rational soul
in a world of extremes
has torn your spirit to tatters-
tatters littered across
your Toronto abode.
Divided amongst the heirlooms
and emptied bottles.
This desolation you
sought to translate
for the harmonious pulse
of the dial tone.
Hazy,
is this ancient mind,
a smoking fallout of
yesterday's parties
to be discussed over
lukewarm coffee
and cigarette butts,
while the shivering streams
and green plains become
commodified for a higher power.
Dan, my dearest friend,
I loved you
ferocious and freely,
fanged and supremely,
and as your mind coagulated
on a couch,
microphone in-hand,
I felt nostalgic for
your clumsy alcoholism,
and clumsier guitar strumming.
The white fog descends,
the city is hungry--
no longer can it expand.
Toronto eats itself
with you inside,
shall I write you a postcard?
Shall I kick down your door?
Shall I let you join the bones
you so beautifully alluded to?
Whisper, my friend,
amidst the soft croon of
the saxophone,
whisper, my friend,
of a Europe gone defective,
whisper, my friend,
for an apocalypse of sun
to release us all from
the white fog slowly burying
our Toronto.
Feb 9, 2011
Feb 9, 2011 at 7:18 PM UTC
So there I saw-
and then I curled
into my fetal ball of envy
my happiness had coagulated
and chilled
like a refrozen popsicle
at the back of the freezer.
even if you melted
my
stale
cracked
enclosure
you would still smell
the jealous-
like
hangover
on my breath
I swear it even
exploits my muscles
my tendons grimace
like massive internal
pulley systems.
when my mind
frowns condescendingly
at my juvenile grievances,
the follies laugh their
disassembled modulations
and ignore my pleas
no-it takes more than that.
my every yellow Laureling
becomes a necessity
to coax, soften my
serpentine
charity
from whence I have locked it.
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 2:31 AM UTC
You are
a brass framed
feather bed
in the middle of
a dilapidated forest
white
waxen
cadaverous
arms and metacarpals
outstretched
screeching praise to
Father Fumigated Sky
a tie dyed atmosphere
embodying the ambiance
of some apocalyptic rose garden
bled gold, wine,
& liquid ecstasy
and leaked through chemical clouds
or the coagulated tears of
God...
my strange,
creaky comfort.
may we
watch it all
crash down
in peace.
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 2:23 AM UTC
At trees reunited or the Great Timber-yard in the sky
There are certain branches
who remember the incisions made
to fell their growth.
spurts & seasons,
and the wind rustling
through imagined leaves of
appendages long gone
All the gunge
symptomatic of sap coagulated
won't replace the
holes in the sky
© Copyright David Bosworth August 2013
Aug 24, 2013
Aug 24, 2013 at 7:42 PM UTC
I woke up
to a nightcalm-shattering
cell phone ringtone.
"Can I come over, baby?"
"What time is it?"
"I don't know 3, 4."
**** eyes roll, sigh,"yeah I guess so."
"Don't sound too excited," Molly said, Molly laughed.
"Are you going to be long?"
"Nah, I'm already outside."
"Awesome. Okay, let me put on some pants."
I opened the door.
Her hair was up.
Her skin was the color of milk.
Her eyes were grey.
She held keys in the palm of her hand.
"I like your hair," Molly said, Molly laughed.
I said it was getting ridiculous,
she put her hands on my chest,
the tension in the tips of her fingers grew,
exploration, exploration.
"Do you want something to drink?"
"Nah, can we just sit on the couch?"
"Sure."
"How's your fella do-"
She kissed the words, to lock them in.
She started to tear at my shirt,
I stalled her advances,
turned the tables,
I'm done with being prey.
I pulled her up gracelessly,
I fell through her crimson shirt,
through her black bra,
I drank each ounce of her chest,
I grabbed her nape gracelessly,
her eyes briefly frightened,
turned sinister,
turned to validation,
turned to encouragement.
I mapped her stomach,
made quick work of her
cotton shorts,
I bit the waistline of
her lace,
she clung to my coagulated hair,
I laid her to the ground,
we warred atop notebooks and
***** t-shirts,
kissing vigorously in an attempt
to stay far ahead of morals, of reasoning.
I feasted on her hip bone,
she tugged at my shirt,
no,no,no.
I removed the lace with my teeth,
her breath was exciting,
I feasted on the insides of her thighs,
she convulsed,
cursed,
grabbed tight to shirt, to hair, to every piece of furniture near.
Molly's pupils, irises, all grew.
Molly's panting ******* moans all rose.
Howling.
Peaking, breaking, releasing, falling,
sighing,
sighing,
breathing.
I wiped my lips with the back of my arm,
got up,
went to the bathroom,
used some mouthwash,
Molly walked in behind me,
"Things have been going better with him, lately, actually."
"I'm ******* happy for you guys."
Sep 14, 2010
Sep 14, 2010 at 2:45 PM UTC
A clay *** holds your happiness.
It's halfway tall,
reaching up to your thigh,
Narrow, blown up in the middle, narrow.
Simple lid with a spherical dot for fingers to grasp,
and a black drawn line
that curls from base to lip,
and over.
Insides encumbered by sweet darkness,
shaded glory,
because outside,
gleaming.
Spiraled gold that must have dribbled off the sun's ice cream cone
leaked through the bottom where the end had broken
and flavor escaped
to land on your mirthful urn.
Blue so clear,
the sky surely lost a piece of itself
as a crack appeared
and a fragment cascaded downward
to shatter along your pleasant chalice.
And in between,
are lines of green
that could have only originated
on pinewood trees
in a forest so dark
that monsters beware.
Bordering a little town
where children played
and only truth was called,
never dare.
Because there is red on your delighted decanter.
Spattered droplets
of coagulated sparks.
Jaded needles saturated,
with pine fresh essence
emanating from your zesty flagon.
And a single spot,
Barren.
Bereft of treasure.
Parted from cerulean.
Robbed of Viridian.
And severed in the roots of a blushing Amaryllis.
Occupying there,
a white blemish,
a shape of infinite corners
immaculately defined
and so small,
you will never find it on the canister
that harbors your smile.
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 11:33 PM UTC
it lies in wait
in the sighs after a statement
in the pause between words
hanging in the air
it looms overhead
thickening with each passing second
coating the lungs with heavy silence
yea, the silence
'tis wear dreams go to die
for when exposed to another
it's the silence
that is coagulated disillusionment
and it is in that place
that the silver in the clouds
begins to tarnish
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 8:17 PM UTC
hark near!
speak knives upon ears...
make them plea,
and beg upon swollen knees.
for we are truly so,
the ones in which we sow
coagulated clots into a beaded necklace,
blood berries--blood berries
of an aching vocabulary's.
waiting.
begging.
pleading for one swipe.
aching for someone to hurt,
and hope they fully bleed at night.
we merely want to help,
aide the eulogies and add a scissor kiss,
to the concoction of labor,
and amalgamation of agony,
in order to spice,
and to cease.
nothing but a sweet disease
for the white blood cells,
and wish you deep luck,
on a tall grass journey.
we simply wish for ****
after ****
and smile when you still go up running,
blood stained grin after blood stained grin,
and spitting saucers of cut lips upon your hurt cheeks.
spit teacups
and an half full glass
have nothing to do with a child
or years of class.
you may think we're nothing but a nuance,
and don't mean anything but to watch you cook your own brain,
but we are simply here,
to help you on the chair,
and tighten your own noose.
save the ache of being petty,
and moans of disgrace,
we're here to swallow your pity,
and make you drink your own ****
simply--surely--simply and surely so,
but we don't mean anything but to guide you to the ditch,
with slices of paper from rusted scissors,
and help you die with your pitch.
you're one of those, are you not? a ********* and nothing more?
you'd best be reminded,
that what is a song,
without its poem?
you have nothing to fear but your own tongue,
and your own blood,
and your own tears,
and make you think you're nothing but clod.
but you'd best be sweating salver if you really are what you say you are.
a place with no shelter?
no story to show?
no roof and no halter?
no place to know?
for the earth mirrors the heavens
and you place what lays between.
you are truly pathetic--but you scribble that.
you are truly meaningless--but you bleed that.
you are truly wordless--but you speak them.
and no one--not even us--can tell you what you really are.
and if you really are what you say you are--then show us.
but don't prove it.
remember, you have a noose that is tight.
all you need is a chair to kick over...
and paper--and pencil--and keyboard--and mind.
now, go ahead and tell me what you are...
the naive scholar for all mankind.
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 11:15 AM UTC
that tiny **** cloth for a worldly affectation
worn for vanity grew without any cessation
engulfing my being swiftly in total negation.
turned now a cloak black of inhuman sedation
a second skin becoming skin itself, then seeped
to the very bones and a coagulated heart reaped
of consequence,truth layered the real concealed,
the self an image, just mirrored slick in Gucci attire
a fig leaf terrible now hiding the whole,wise tree entire!
PS-no offense meant for Gucci designs or the beautiful people who wear them!
Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 5:21 AM UTC
The libraries and bookstores of the world
Are stocked with pleasantries:
Prim, proper, peach juice-oozing volumes
That made the grade.
These books are all well and good,
And are not unworthy of examination,
Simply because they were deemed so
By a jury of your peers.
Make note, however,
Of the myopia inherent
In limiting yourself
To the savoury.
Observe:
Past the shelves of
Well-lit,
Worn-covered
Thoroughly thumbed delicacies,
There is more to be seen.
Do not hesitate to approach the shelves
Wreathed in thorns and security tape
And kept under dim bulbs.
The books that lurk there
Are sealed tight
And wear jackets plastered in sludge:
Sludge laid thick by heavy-handed brushstrokes.
Prying open the padlock
Will sometimes reveal
Further grime coagulated upon the pages.
Further prying, however,
Will split open tomes
Scrawled with fractures of light,
Lending to the eye
An illumination unique
To such tarred works.
Do not fear these banned books,
These veiled wonders,
For they contain pure, unscreened scrawlings
Soulfully wrought upon simple scraps of paper.
It is within these that truth can be found.
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 7:58 AM UTC
Cannibalistic animals
Feeding off of each
others pain
Blood ******* leaches
Reaching for their
own personal gain
Civilized savages
Educated fools
Empire of vampires
Rearranging the rules
Disguised in neckties
Briefcases and
smiling faces
Cloaked in lies
Spiritual wickedness
in high places
Coagulated rivers
Calculated killers
Cryptic crimes
Comprised by
Gifted minds
Concrete jungle
Play the game "or be
the game
The weak who stumble
Are hunted down and
maimed
If you can’t beat ‘em
-join ‘em
It’s the only way to
survive
Stepping on the heads
of others
Just to stay alive
Its dog eat dog
And every dog has its
day
Today is mines- so be
smart
When you hear the bark
Stay the hell out of my
way
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 12:45 AM UTC
Just a drink of water,
to quench my thirst
for your presence
for ever---
A loving pat on one cheek
for all the love on me you showered,
and softly, ever so softly
on the other cheek
give the parting kiss for keeps.
That's all I ask for,
all the love we shared between us
never fully contained in whispers and kisses
all night conversations and caresses.
Taking a deep breath, look in to my eyes,
and pour all your blues, for me not to forget,
we are a coagulated scented mass, rare
no one in this world could separate.
Let me emulate the wind, that rustles leaves
well before leaving without telling anything
and in return shuffle my hair, like before,
I will leave smiling, without thinking.
even when my heart is in fire hissing:
"Ah! this is how it all ends, never to repeat"
I 've learned the art of containing pain,
quite early in my life, without much effort,
a white fluffy haired pup,my dad's first gift,
that made happy beyond my little heart's content,
the one I bathed cared and fed, day and night
left for ever, in one cold after noon...
heart broken I wept, tried to wake him up
Dad consoled "Let's buy another".It didn't help, a bit.
But when the pet parakeet, that flew around our home
was made his meal by our own rouge cat
the scattered wings, feathers and bones scared,
I didn't cry or panic, the pain died down within
I was learning a lesson then for a path strewn with thorns.
I'll walk away straight, with a smile,
like many smiles went past you,
but now, I know you'll whimper,
But don't, please don't shed that drop of tear
at the corner of your eye, hold it there,
it'll mutely tell you about a love divine, for ever.
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 9:39 AM UTC
The stage lights fade
Supporting cast
All dispersed
No applause to echo
No encore heard
From the empty stadium.
Two stars remain
Upon the empty stage
As the colors fade
To black and white.
"You's" flew
Like shurikens
With expert
Accuracy;
"I's" were daggers
Digging deep.
From the endless trill of
Stab words
That began in pleasantries,
Their hearts lay
Beating,
Bleeding
And
With each weakened throb
Love life,
Love lusts,
Loves lost
Oozed and coagulated
Till at the others' feet.
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 9:54 PM UTC
The Drummer Brothers of Ikku Ukku
Heard from the bathers that-
The Princess had been abducted
By the Dark Beast.
A bounty of thousand gold coins was announced
If you brought her back alive and the beast dead
And Death if you brought the beast alive and the Princess dead.
The Drummer Brothers of Ikku Ukku
Hung their drums around their necks
And drummed their way
Through the Forest Dark
When the Elder Brother drummed the sleep-inducing roll,
The storks that roosted in the trees
Dropped as if they were one big bunch.
He picked them up one by one
While the younger one,
Elated,
Shouted 'Pelicans!' and drummed the defeathering roll
Upon which the plumage came off
The Elder Brother drummed the roasting roll
And the birdflesh caught fire.
On the second day a leopard that looked-
More like a boulder in leopard's clothing
Lurched at the brothers.
The Elder Brother drummed the age-reversing roll
And the poor old leopard grew younger and younger
Until it became a watery foetus which-
The Drummer Brothers ate,
Dabbing crushed chillies, and sprinkling salt.
On the third day a bear of grisly proportions
Ambled, roaring, into their sight
The Younger Brother drummed an organ-enlarging roll that-
Stretched the bear's mammaries far too long-
They dragged on the ground like two pythons.
The Elder Brother drummed the light-the- candle roll
And the oily **** caught fire like wicks.
Having vanquished the two deadly beasts
The Drummer Brothers of Ikku Ukku met,
On the fourth day of their journey,
The Dark Beast.
The Dark Beast, as it turned out,
Was no beast as such
But an Outcast once expelled
Into the heart of darkness
Who wrapped himself
In the dark of the Dawn
And became one with All the Beasts
And rumbled.
The Princess' pygmy horse was impaled
With the stake coming out of its mouth
Grossly gory, its hindlegs missing
And the blood, coagulated, hanging like icicles.
Near it was the Princess herself,
Naked, except for the gold waist chain
And the anklets.
The Drummer Brothers of Ikku Ukku
Drummed a very ordinary roll,
Steady and throbbing.
The Dark Beast who listened to it
Was transported into his past,
His memory of listening
To the old drummers of Ikku Ukku.
Excited,
He spun on his heels and stretched out his arms
He gyrated and pirouetted-
And on reaching the peak of his frenzy
Exploded, like a watermelon
The pieces flew in all directions.
The Drummer Brothers picked them up
And licked
While the Princess, shaken out of her languor,
Rose and sauntered towards them.
Holding out her honey hands
She said, "Now I belong to both of you."
The Younger Brother came up with a plan:
The elder one would have her from the waist up
While he would have her from the waist down.
The Elder Brother approved.
Vain and coquettish,
The Princess rammed her fists into either drum
And said: "I loathe their sound- too unrefined."
On the fifth day,
The Drummer Brother drummed a jazzed up roll
On their new drumhead
Made of the Princess' hide.
Jul 24, 2020
Jul 24, 2020 at 6:15 AM UTC
The summer before
her chest hollowed out,
ribs bowing around vacuums,
her lungs ballooning new geometries.
The summer seas invaded body cavities,
feral and chemically sweet.
Her body became a gondola
ferrying pale, diminutive hopes
across the wide strait of your pelvis.
Oceans shifted gingerly,
unborn into the intimate dark
of throats, heart chambers,
marshes between thighs.
She drew the shores around her close, paranoid.
When they got to her
she’d filled her mouth deep
with different types of char: love, anorexia, Quaaludes.
Marrow coagulated and stopped ebbing
with the orbit of the moon.
Her heart smelled like day-old fish.
Dec 20, 2012
Dec 20, 2012 at 11:18 PM UTC
A man at my local zoo
Once showed me how snake venom
Effected human blood.
While dripping a drop of the acrid mess with one hand,
He held a small container of life in the other
And with a drop and a swirl of his wrist,
The blood was coagulated
And obviously unable to flow.
In that moment I knew
That love
Was the venom
And I
Was the blood,
Slowly congealing and
Falling at my only purpose:
Staying alive.
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 12:34 PM UTC
Like honey, cloyingly, sickeningly sweet
You cling, coagulated, dripping
Sticking and
I find you between my fingers
caught in the corners of my lips
Taste of clover stinging and
No matter how hard I
Try to scrub, clean, lick you away,
You remain ever present and
I find that I am helpless
Stuck solitary and motionless within
A candied cocoon
Feb 4, 2012
Feb 4, 2012 at 4:18 AM UTC
There is a boy bathed by the light of the full moon
I wrote about it, then I burned it
Now.. sitting in the shade of the budding lime trees
I realize that which is once written..cannot be destroyed
An oddness is abroad I believe
An oddness that allows for the purchasing of warm apricot juice
An oddness that produces groundless but powerful fears
An oddness producing an impulse to run away
An oddness that weaves itself into a shape among the sultry and coagulated air
An oddness in the shape of a boy
Captured by the blue light of a full moon in the middle of the day
I shut my eyes but the vision flutters before me
As if it is impressed on tissue paper
Blown gently by a soft breeze
The boys face though beautiful is one made for derision
I think to myself..this can't be.. but alas it is
For when I now open my eyes the hallucination
For that's what I believe it to be
Still flutters before me as a candle flame flickers
My heart is beating in a wild desperation
I am about to scream
The mirage dissolves itself and the boy vanishes
The fear that has griped me evaporates
I put the whole episode down to the drinking
Of warm apricot juice on a very hot day
But am I wrong am I wrong...that would be an oddness
Apr 1, 2012
Apr 1, 2012 at 12:47 PM UTC
His hair grew as coagulated blood
His scalp perpetually trying to reach his eyebrows
Skin greased and calloused
His eyes soulless
Yet seemed searching
Everybody was not afraid of him.
I gave him food once
I placed it on the ground where
He stood outside the church’s door
He barely moved
He slowly stooped
It was like watching a snail’s body melt
when you put salt on it
I wonder if he has ever uttered a word in his life
Of course I never expected him to say thanks
He was still slowly bending but I knew he
Wouldn’t get it unless I was not in sight.
But I desired to see him get it
I wanted to see if his face would ever change a bit
So I just went away thinking I starved him with my presence
I went back after a moment
The container lay on the floor, no chicken bones.
His eyebrows twitched no more
But the eyes were looking…somewhere.
Somehow.
I was baffled, have always been.
How is he supposed to live?
I can’t always give him food.
The priests might be busy too.
The altar boys might have been annoyed by his stench
So they would not get near either.
My house’s far from the church.
That wounded man would just keep staring at him from up the cross.
I wonder if the ***** ever asked the man to come down from his cross
And give him something to eat.
Or did he ever contemplate on bringing him down?
Jan 26, 2012
Jan 26, 2012 at 7:50 AM UTC
morning light
angels proud of themselves
red sunset
look in the mirror
see the damp infants
limping
history is a seedling
feed it or free it
hours ago she left
for coffee and company
do you care to see her again
clearly its a butterfly
hungry for the caterpillar’s food
blood is used
reduced and coagulated
the storms are raging in the attic
pornographic finger-painting
panting and smashing
she lashes out in anger
lanterns are her favorite
these trees are our brothers
deepen and soften
kiss and listen to these secrets
you are sullen and forlorn
the impermanance of mourning
goats are born to roam
and eat
freedom seeks meaning
while history is dreaming
and i am all alone
in her company
Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 1:45 PM UTC