Idis

The Big Ideas.
Often lost in
the little Ides.

I cry out in.
Hide the
crows feet.
Scream.

Those lines
like arrows
pointing home.
A way.

The teeth are
blessed with
mange. They

live between
enamel and cavity.
Wet. Red. Home.

Midnight reads
Nothing. I say
my mouth in

wide embrace
a constant
tethering.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s