Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

If you asked me how to write a poem,
I'd tell you to go to hell,
and after you do
a few thousand lifetimes later,
let yourself be turned over
like dirt,
like the stink of heaven.

But if you wanted the truth,
I'd tell you nothing
you didn't already know,
dear poet.

Poems will read your fingers.

~A

i had a poem read my fingers once. I said "What do they say what do they say?"
and the poem answered, "o you're such a cocked-up gutterminded dirty little boy!"
And I went, "O Baby baby - hell yeah Mongolia!

read my fingers, yes... they do that ...

(your title reminded me of that twisted "bedtime story" by tom waits . . . "the moon was a piece of rotten wood" ... sorry...)

yes, good write.