Electrostatic shock runs through my nerves and hits like a dose, but my stare won't curve though it may be gross. This sends my tongue on a tango with my teeth, like the birds who walk on my roof think it's a tree! Pulling blankets from throws to cushioned beds of moss I grow, only the rocks are aware of such woes. They converse, slow, by electrostatic shock run through my nerves; watch how they go. I write poems when I am alone, except for the old crone who sits in my hair and takes bites of pears. Perched above a bosom yet below a stem, we blossom as cilantro seeds in stink bugs do, for the same sense that my blood is drew through catheters for open ended STD tested babies she grew. Whew. That's a mouthful, I know, cause' I write poems when I am alone.
Discussion about this post
No posts