Rise the Menial

I filled my wine glass with sparkling water,
I ate an ice cream cone on the curb.

The taste is palpable while I’m digging up my skin,
planting rose bushes in my arms and herbs on my knees.
I’ll dampen myself to make it all grow from beneath me.
Am I in season?

My blooms are falling to the floor, but I can make more.
Don’t take them, I need them.

Oh the hands are sore, that till the soil.
They bleed from the cuticle, it is slight.
Smudge that dirt across your face to keep at it,
show it all to the menial to make them rise.


I gotta sink my fingers in to make me stay, cause I get so close to leaving.

Reviews

[Ed Hart]

how can i stop for the poem when the poet is there, just there

[Sami Khalil]

"Oh the hands are sore, that till the soil.
They bleed from the cuticle, it is slight.
Smudge that dirt across your face to keep at it,
show it all to the menial to make them rise."

A splendid read and write...Thank you for penning...:)

[atom]

Where is that chapbook already?