"underlayer" poems
Gaping;
I can see my soft underlayer
like gooey egg whites stretching
between two skin walls.
Thick roads of red
at my wrists reaching
closer to the highway
lit to the clouds, warmed by other drivers
but the oil is low
and the gas is running out.
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 7:12 PM UTC