A poem written each day upon waking. It's mostly unedited. I think that's the point. Promise not to laugh, or let me give up, and please, wish me luck.
Saturday, February 19, 2011
2/6/11
a tiny prick
for every follicle
sweeping my body
in swarms.
stabbing in wind
torture won't end
until the winter
warms.
No comments:
Post a Comment