Little FishA Poem by Y. CountsWhat happened the day your little wet gills fused into skin and you became less ethereal, more bound by a body? You only shivered with the business of creation- a daily miracle buzzing below layers of tissues. A something-from-nothing universal card trick springing up out of just another being, some half-mad slowly evolving chemical witness to the sublime science of things. No different, yet wholly unique, your mother- whose flaws will only make quiet stains in the laundry of your life, and on whom you rest your softly dreaming head.
© 2008 Y. Counts |
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Added on March 18, 2008Last Updated on September 10, 2008 AuthorY. CountsCAAboutMy Writing: I am not a writer by education or by discipline. My poems are like dreams that become complete when given words. From the place beyond words they grow fingers and ask to be born. They tin.. more..Writing
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