On no day of the week do I fail so cleverly
As in the natural world on my padded paws.
The conversation stops, I pulse and fingers pop,
A word swings from my hanging jaw. I am locked, all
Bone, knuckle and claw-
And my blood does turn to steam,
Comes a cloud up over me.
My roots are where I've stayed my feet.
I do pull my life back in
Until I boil it again, all
Ghostly, scarce and burning grin.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment