In Reality,A Poem by Kristine Ferg
Let the fingers paint these tiny walls,
that blacken into squalor while the little sail boat captains rest assured, know that all my little paper bombs brush into devil's corner and hamper my every deed and drug listen carefully, you see to the chime that sing at morning, do you think they call for wind or call for me? see? I've nothing to lose but a shopping cart, I've nothing to maim but my skin, and no one, not even story books, can take me from the men, they write in their papers about darling girls who write and draw and dance, and they see a good beauty who lost to confusion and that, my friends is not me. I live in a web full of long-gone folk tales of the lives of those came and gone, they whisper me secrets of past on endeavors ---oh, pass me the plate, will you not? yes, give me that soul to let rot. © 2011 Kristine Ferg |
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1 Review Added on June 24, 2011 Last Updated on June 24, 2011 AuthorKristine FergAboutI'm just another person. Just like you; my art the object of knowledge in understanding who I am and how I am. And that, simply, is enough about me. more..Writing
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