Speak MouthA Poem by Soil CreepA dream
Smell of fire,
the roiling pyramid stoking commas with special attention to the senses panorama A.J.'s Annual Party, --a hitch rig shot from within, the young man grinding his teeth _uprooting molar by molar as if he was never satisfied by- a white outline around every licking spark: A small contribution for the oxygen starved counters. © 2012 Soil CreepAuthor's Note
|
StatsAuthor
|