Worlds without end the emptiest parts of the life span crows and ravens prey on
frozen, hungry brown bears as if it could smash through solid rock
an eye on some freakist, million-to-one
Saturday, November 26, 2005
I'll smack your face until paint spurts out of your eyes & ears I'll revive you the horizon's ember-red look at it burn your eyes out on it your body is eternity moving like a worm lower yourself into me--hurt like a surgeon hurts
In a good way or a bad way? I don't want to assume which. Only good poems burt in a good way, and only bad ones burt in a bad way.
Then again, getting hit in the teeth with a hockey puck is a far more visceral way to get hurt than any poem will provide. That's why I don't play hockey.
1 comment:
In a good way or a bad way? I don't want to assume which. Only good poems burt in a good way, and only bad ones burt in a bad way.
Then again, getting hit in the teeth with a hockey puck is a far more visceral way to get hurt than any poem will provide. That's why I don't play hockey.
LB
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