where would it have been
that little spark
before
or if
it existed
tell us
faces expectant
make us laugh
not one
asks about the fear
tell us
hands clap
it's rhythmic
it's frightening
it isolates you there
unto yourself
and only yourself
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There are things that we need and things that are Ned. Nedfulthings: a collection of labyrinthine conversations and a fistful of dreams... |
Window Pain
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The Poet is like an onion - because when you cut him, he makes you cry.
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Overblown praise is also much appreciated
and truthfully, even a little insincere
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