poem 3

my arms are pendulums my feet are hammers my walk is trustworthy

I lean over to look at a worm like

a bent nail

my eyes are vacuum cleaners my heart is a desert my thoughts are

worried, I am scared

as I lean further to see this thing which crawls out of mud

I own a haircut given by a butcher I see the lake lies flat on

its curved side

I have no money today my ears are the shape

of tubas my mouth is childhood, my tongue is tired my

fingers reach for a worm

my belly is fat my face is a spot my poem is forgot

I have written many like it, it is only parchment but

the worm is real

Reviews

[Muse]

Separating yourself from inspiration and reality. Intrigued I am.

have no money today my ears are the shape

of tubas my mouth is childhood, my tongue is tired my

fingers reach for a worm

my belly is fat my face is a spot my poem is forgot

I have written many like it, it is only parchment but

the worm is real


You charmed the senses...
excellent writing.

Muse

[Emily B]

the worm is real

and just like that we find an anchor to this too large world that we live in

[...]

your writing is extremely vivid
and powerful
i remember this infinitely poetic
list