Whoo-hoo! Day five! :B Today's poem is hastily-written and possibly the worst yet. Oh well!
Round Five
To the potholder woman:
Please offer me no potholders
(woven cheap elastic mats- $0.50)
but give me guilt to wrap
around myself as I hustle away
face burning and me churning
with sour hot hatred for self
and
What about your pots?
Will you hold them over your head
as the rain clambers down through the sky
to pitterpatter over your town-
Middletown
middling town
middle of town-
your subjects,
your territory.
You goddess, make peace with your earth-body!
Turn the wrinkles in your face
into the rivers that crawl over the sidewalks
and your hands upward
into the branches of stunted trees
and your wild grey hair
into the blanket of cloud
swaddling this your town.
View User's Journal
How Disturbing.
It's a Gaia Journal. You know the drill. Stuff you don't care about, written by someone you don't know. :0
 |
Hedjrebl
Community Member |
In my next life,
I want to be me,
and meet you again.