Sunday, June 4, 2017

Kerri Shying R # 254 Regretsy


there were these poems
like bats
who come at night

flap vain above my whore bright hair
where  penless   I
fight sleep   shapes

reach    fruitless    just that
inch too short
and out of ink

fourth stanza
gone you
fleeting bastards    get the pen before you sleep

I think


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