The sky is
a split gourd with pulp strewn about,
clouds / seeds / crazy bird flights –
are they laughing at our ineptitude?
We have no plans worth saving
and all that’s gooey
is comfort / revival / love poem
with much viscera and kisses.
The sky is
a split gourd with pulp strewn about,
clouds / seeds / crazy bird flights –
are they laughing at our ineptitude?
We have no plans worth saving
and all that’s gooey
is comfort / revival / love poem
with much viscera and kisses.
The Word Rummager 
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