"snowcave" poems
At this moment, I am wedged between my tonsils.
Stuck, yet scrambling to stay still
(I am afraid to make a noise.)
Beneath me: there is nothing but an empty stomach,
behind me: a neck which wears its weakness in its cracking
and before me: a tongue trapped in a clammy cage
by a brain blanketed in discomfort.
Feb 8, 2010
Feb 8, 2010 at 7:47 PM UTC