Shot down like a deer in the dark
lying dead, the wound soon a door
for dirt dwellers, bugs, birds and boars,
to feed on my dull, rancid carcass
my soul delves deep in the core.
Fists balled in the hollow of the eyes Sat in the old, creaky wicker chair The scream stuck in the pharynx Blue-overalls despair taking ho...
No comments:
Post a Comment
Avis sur la chose en question
Feedback on the thing in question