POEM A DAY 2012
seven poems, seven days, seventh month
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Who Change
awoke a cobweb -
a non-bug's bed.
every cornea afraid
of all the dust I am.
You gotta get up, friend -
I miss you bad.
asleep a lion
a fur-hot head.
all hands form hard black
points of dead things.
Everyone's going away
and all deflating.
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