poetry screeches when it oughta be silent.
it scratches my cranium incessantly, flit flit.
it wakes me in a dream, impostor of a dream.
the scene takes too much work, the visual,
and that's not even the half life of it.
once you dig in, oh those metaphors.
Poetry is like a chimpanzee
Who is online
Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 1 guest